Sit With You

Excuse me? Can I sit down with you?

Beginning again is hard for me to do

Making new friends is not my strength

My relationships have the shortest length

One minute we’re talking about nothing

The next we’re distracted by something

A new job, a new house, a new friend

An old foe, an old trauma, and no end

You’re a dinner and movie date away

We want to go, but we can’t even stay

My name is Garrison in case you care

How much of my soul should I bare?

Do my stories bore you? Make you cringe?

Should I move closer to the fringe?

Should I fake charisma I never had?

Is my awkwardness really that bad?

I gave it a shot whether I succeeded or not

Nobody can say I never even fought

On to the next one, whoever that is

Another beautiful soul I learn to miss

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

How much more pain must be felt?

Rejection is a passing thought to you

To me it hurts like a permanent bruise

It’s not your fault and it never was

It’s all on me and enough is enough

Isolation is both a gift and a curse

But at least it can’t get any worse

Loneliness isn’t something to fear

My own demons will always be here

Disturbing Tropes

***DISTURBING TROPES***

Yes, I know we’re two months removed from Halloween and this particular topic’s expiration date has passed. But then again, I don’t fucking care! I see a lot of Author Tubers counting down lists of their favorite/worst tropes depending on what the genre is. Jenna Moreci did a Worst Family Tropes video and the final item on her list reminds me too much of Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck” jokes. And then you have Erin Kinsella being as sweet as can be when listing off her favorite romantic tropes. I don’t have a You Tube channel, but I want to list off tropes of my own, so that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. Today I’m listing off my top six most disturbing tropes in any genre. If you agree or disagree with anything on this list, I’d love to hear it.

***LOSS OF INDIVIDUALITY***

Our minds are the last safe havens for us as human beings. Without our individuality, we are nothing. In high school, I was very protective of my individuality and I have Pink Floyd the Wall to thank for that. The school kids in that movie lose their individuality and that’s why they all wear creepy putty-faced masks: because they all look and act the same. In this case, the teacher is responsible for their conformity because he’s a bully. He reads Pink’s poetry out loud and humiliates him in front of the classroom. Therefore, every time he writes poetry, he’s going to think of that traumatic moment and not want to do poetry anymore, hence why he wears a putty-faced mask. School is just one place where a child can lose his individuality. It can also happen in church, in cults, and even in their own homes. When you lose the ability to decide for yourself, you give up what makes you special.

***ANIMAL TRANSFORMATION***

When I say animal transformation, I’m not talking about shape shifters who willingly change into other species. I’m talking about when it happens to somebody against their will. When you transform into an animal, you lose all credibility as a human being and your individuality goes up in smoke. We saw this with Disney’s version of Pinocchio when the kids were all transformed into donkeys after partaking in “sinful” behavior. Believe it or not, I can find an even more disturbing version of this trope. In Cowboy Bebop’s fourth episode, Gateway Shuffle, an eco-terrorist group creates a virus that transforms ordinary human beings into primitive monkeys. They decide to use the virus on one of their own, Harrison, after he makes a mistake during an attack. Watching Harrison locked in a small cage and transforming into a monkey was easily the most disturbing moment in Cowboy Bebop. Yes, he’s a bad guy, but even I had to have sympathy for him.

***FALSE IMPRISONMENT***

Prison by itself is a scary place to be. The guards are bullies, the prisoners are bullies, and there’s no reprieve from the constant assaults. The US has the highest prison population of any country, but that’s not what I’m talking about today. What if the imprisonment of another person was because of a civilian and not the police? What if it’s a pedophile holding a child hostage for decades at a time? What if it’s a drug cartel holding someone’s wife hostage in exchange for money or information? What if it’s a deprogrammer holding a non-brainwashed person hostage and forcing him to lose his individuality? Jaycee Dugard’s story of being raped for eighteen years straight by a complete stranger will always disturb me, so much so that I wish there was a hell just so her attacker could burn in it for all eternity.

***SPIDERS, SCORPIONS, AND SNAKES***

The three S’s, ladies and gentlemen. The three motherfucking S’s. They’re tiny, they’re creepy, and they love to bite and sting humans for virtually no reason. One of the three S’s is bad enough on its own. But just imagine the horror of being trapped in a room with hundreds of these disgusting creatures. Crawling on your walls, crawling on your body, eating you alive as you struggle to get them off. It’s the reason why I’ll never watch Something Wicked This Way Comes or Eight Legged Freaks ever again, as they both have spider scenes. What about that Indiana Jones movie where Indy is trapped underground with a bunch of snakes? Fucking forget it, man! Yuck!

***HEAD VOICES***

As a schizophrenic, I have personal experience with this. Disembodied voices telling you negative things? Creepy! Now imagine responding to them out loud in a public place. Not only will the voices grow more aggressive the more you fight them, but those who share the public space with you will either give you funny looks or they’ll back as far away from you as they possibly can. Even with those head voices, you’re the loneliest motherfucker on planet earth. Luckily, I’ve never had to be institutionalized, but if I was, that’d be yet another example of false imprisonment. Mental hospitals are prisons for the psychologically ill. They committed no crimes, yet they can’t leave whenever they want to nor do they get freedom or rights of any kind. That’s a prison in my eyes.

***HEAD SHAVING***

When I say head shaving, I’m not talking about my bimonthly visit to Hair Masters to get a buzz cut. I’m not even talking about cancer patients having their hair fall out after chemotherapy. I’m talking about when head shaving is done to an unwilling person as a way to humiliate and dehumanize them. We saw this in V For Vendetta when Natalie Portman was captured by the totalitarian government and had her head shaved completely bald. We see this in prisons all the time when newbies get their heads shaved for no other reason other than the fact that the guards are assholes. And going back to that theme of loss of individuality, yes, head shaving can be yet another way to make a large group of people look exactly the same. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being bald, but against your will at another person’s hands? Not cool. And definitely creepy as fuck.

***CONCLUSION***

So what about you guys? Do you have any tropes that you find disturbing? Let me know in the comment section. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another disturbing trope: the theme music from Tales From the Dark Side!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Over the past few days, I’ve been working on getting Beautiful Monster in tiptop shape for yet another round of editing. I’ve written a new prologue where Queen Llewellyn Xavier gives a Magetan sermon to her flock and I’ve edited the newly minted chapter one where her brother Windham Xavier has a traumatic episode prior to his stealth mission. Both chapters have something in common: the main protagonists don’t act like overdramatic babies anymore. Crying was such a common thing in my most recent draft, so much so that the characters came off as drama queens rather than people who are actually in pain. That’s something I intend to change as I’m going through these chapters. That way, when Windham finally does cry near the story’s end, it’ll be special and warranted. Wish me luck!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Before you judge me, take a good hard look at yourself. You don’t know me, but you’re draining me of mental health. A lie based on popular opinion. I want to die, ‘cause I can’t be forgiven. The world is caving in all around me. I see myself as a vulgar monstrosity. My mind collapsed into a technical mess. I can’t deal with the guilt I have to ingest. Locked in a room void of humanity. I’m in a black hole suffering endlessly. Opening my eyes is worse than death. That’s why I keep on holding my breath.”

-Alien Weaponry singing “Holding My Breath”-

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

MOVIE TITLE: How the Grinch Stole Christmas

DIRECTOR: Ron Howard

YEAR: 2000

GENRE: Holiday Fantasy

RATING: PG for comic mischief and bullying

GRADE: Pass

There’s a reason why people who hate Christmas in real life are referred to as Grinches. They’re also called Scrooges and Bah-Humbugs, but being called a Grinch is a special kind of dishonor. Not only do you not want to enjoy the Christmas spirit yourself, but you’ll do anything humanly possible to make it miserable for everybody else, whether it’s playing cruel pranks or stealing presents. That’s the story Dr. Seuss got us all used to. But in this movie, we don’t see evil for the sake of evil. Sure, the Grinch was bullied as a kid and that’s what made him hate Christmas. Adding a traumatic back story doesn’t always equal goodwill, but this time it does. A green hairy monster loved by nobody and shunned by the wicked. If we’ve learned anything from The Joker in 2019, it’s not to mess with the disenfranchised. You will feel for the Grinch. You will cheer for him. And when he causes mayhem, you’ll laugh your head off.

A lot of this sympathy for the Grinch was helped magnificently by Jim Carrey’s performance as the title character. He’s not just an angry green monster. He’s eccentric. He’s comedic. He’s delightfully villainous. Whether it’s something as simple as the way he walks, eats, and dances or his witty dialogue that rolls off the tongue naturally, Jim Carrey has you by the throat the instant you start watching the movie. If Ace Ventura, The Mask, and The Riddler were injected into The Grinch’s rotten, yet damaged soul, that’s how Jim Carrey’s version of this character would be. But he’s not just comic relief. He’s nuanced to the point where everything he says holds water. This movie is often categorized as a drama-comedy and that combination of genres embodies Jim Carrey’s character perfectly. I’m not sure if he won an Oscar for his performance, but it’d be a crime not to give him one. I know, I know, it seems laughable to do so, but is it really?

You know who else had a convincing performance in this movie? Taylor Momsen, who portrayed little Cindy Lou Who, the only character in the Who village with enough commonsense to see Christmas for what it really is: capitalism in disguise. She knows full well that Christmas should prioritize family love and friendship over materialism, which is why she nominates The Grinch to be the Cheer Meister, because if anybody needs love, it’s him. Taylor Momsen portrayed her character as a sweet, bubbly, optimistic child who wouldn’t hurt a fly. That makes her message of family love more believable than the bombastic Mayor’s “buy, buy, buy” rhetoric. Sure, she’s not taken seriously at first because she’s a child and there’s ageism running rampant. But don’t worry, because Taylor Momsen would eventually grow up to become the lead singer of The Pretty Reckless. Not bad for a little one!

Movie reboots get a bad rap for being worse than their source material, but that’s not the case with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. In fact, I’d say it surpasses the original cartoon from the 1960’s. The Grinch has a more colorful personality, Cindy Lou Who is as sweet as a bug’s ear, and everybody else is living in those two lead characters’ world. Step aside, Mayor; you’re the real Grinch around here. A passing grade will go to this holiday classic. Wow. I can’t believe I’m calling a movie made in 2000 a classic. I’m getting old! Then again, if growing old was a bad thing, there’d be no Pretty Reckless and boy, do I need my rock and roll!

What's So Funny?

VERSE 1

You refuse to laugh at female comedians

But you’ll laugh at those who wear above medium

You refuse to laugh at jokes actually funny

But you’ll laugh at those you consider to be ugly

A hairy body or a Buddha belly

A disfigured face or thighs of jelly

You’ve got a shallow point of view and it shows

Your sense of humor sucks, your philosophy blows

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

VERSE 2

You laugh when a man gets kicked in the nuts

You laugh even harder at a fat plumber’s butt

Laugh harder than that at the Hashtag Jada Pose

Laugh so fucking hard, milk comes out of your nose

You’ve got the sense of humor of a middle school bully

Yet you smile and laugh like you’re so fucking holy

The whole world thinks you’re a major asshole

So why are you next in line for a seat at the castle?

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

VERSE 3

You won’t share a meme unless it has a Nazi symbol

But you’ll gladly pass over Lily Singh and Jimmy Kimmel

You’ll get your comedy from the shittiest places

And then drain the smiles right off your victims’ faces

Nainan eleven, presidential erection

Attention, attention, national dissention

You’re more see through than a wet T-shirt

Your jokes are duds, but the truth will always hurt

CHORUS

What’s so funny? X4

Dirty Laundry

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another episode of Beneath the Surface. I am your host, Aaron Moore. Tonight we’ve got a special treat for you. It’s no secret how Dread City’s debt crisis has ravaged our poor and working class population. Many of our citizens are losing their homes, their jobs, and in many cases, their families due to not being able to pay their debts on time. Here to expose the secrets of this little known debt industry is a man who wishes to be known by the pseudonym Heath Riggs. Heath, welcome to the show.”

“Good to be here, Aaron.”

Heath parked his ass at a dimly lit studio table across from his host, while live cameras filmed the interview from every angle behind the shadows. Aaron Moore clearly enjoyed the spotlight as evidenced by the fancy gray suit and tie he wore just for this occasion. Heath Riggs, on the other hand, thrived in anonymity, his black leather jacket, sunglasses, and hood covering everything but his black face driving the point home. While Aaron leaned his body in to ask the tough questions, Heath kicked back with his fingers in a triangle position and his heel across his lap.

“Now Heath, I want to start off by addressing with you the harassing ways in which debts are collected. The late night phone calls, the vulgar speech, the contacting of family, friends, and coworkers. By your own admission, these tactics should be illegal, yet debt collection companies get away with this all the time.”

Heath cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about the fact that these tactics should be illegal. If they came from anybody other than a collector, the police would be called in a heartbeat. But the funny thing is, the harassment doesn’t actually get us our money faster. Then again, neither does the impending lawsuit and the subsequent garnishing of wages. This isn’t about collecting money we’ll never have. It’s politics. It’s all about weeding out the poor and disenfranchised so that they can’t influence our governmental policies. It’s not a conspiracy. This shit’s as real as it gets.”

Aaron, who was drinking a mug of hot coffee during Heath’s answer, spit out his beverage and choked on whatever was left. After wiping his mouth with his expensive sleeve, he said, “Mr. Riggs, I appreciate your honesty during this interview, but I have to ask you not to swear when giving your answers. We’re on live television in over a million homes. Surely, you understand.”

“Of course I do.” Heath grinned like he was onto something. “Wouldn’t want to offend your audience’s precious Christian ears. Wouldn’t want the children to hear any of this shit. Lord knows they might grow up to become free thinkers. We know that can never happen.”

“I’m warning you, Mr. Riggs….”

Taking his sunglasses off and revealing gray mechanical eyes underneath, Heath said, “Don’t worry, Aaron, I got the message loud and clear. You can’t swear on television, but if you do it behind closed doors with an unwilling secretary, it’s A-okay. I’m not just exposing the debt industries secrets, but yours as well. I agreed to do this interview because I want a clear conscience. Fourteen years of debt collecting began to wear on my soul after a while. I figured, as long as I’m here with an alleged sexual harasser, I might as well go the full nine, you know what I’m saying?”

“Cut the camera feed! Cut it now!” demanded Aaron. Without checking to see if his orders were followed, he leaned in closer to Heath’s face and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but you have no proof and neither do any of my accusers. Those cases were settled a long time ago. Now do you want to discuss debt collection or do you want to keep toying with me?”

“Why can’t he talk about both? It’s not like you two don’t deserve last words,” said a robotic feminine voice from the shadowy background. While Heath remained calm, cool, and collected, Aaron went bug-eyed and his body trembled at the sight of a cyborg assassin holding two severed heads by the hair like they were cheerleader pompoms. As soon as this mysterious woman stepped into the light, headless bodies all around the studio dropped to the ground and soaked the wooden floors in human blood and cyborg oil. A bald black woman with golden earrings and a green metal suit stared her newest victims down with a mischievous grin.

While Aaron curled up in a ball on the edge of pissing himself, the assassin said, “Don’t worry, honey. None of what you or Heath said made it on the airwaves. I made sure of that. It’s probably just as well. Although, if you want to tell your mindless viewers goodbye for one last time, I suppose I could let you do that.”

“Please…I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a family I need to get home to. Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” quivered Aaron while Heath smiled and shook his head.

“It’s the same old excuse: think of my family so that I don’t have to when I’m trying to take the secretary to pound town. Don’t worry, Aaron, I’ve got this.” Heath cracked his knuckles before getting out of his chair and strutting towards the assassin, who tossed the cameramen’s heads off to the side like they were easily disposable to begin with.

“What are you so cocky about, Mr. Riggs? You’re not making it out alive any more than Hard-On Henry over here. In fact, you’re the reason I came here today,” said the assassin with a grin.

Heath gazed his assailant up and down and whistled. “That’s some expensive hardware you’ve got there. How much did them arm blades set you back? Hundreds? Thousands of dollars? And that metal body? Shit, man, I don’t know how you pay for all that with just a Street Ronin’s salary. If only there was somebody here who knew how to make debt disappear quicker than those cameramen you laid out. Hmm…” Heath stroked his chin as he mockingly pondered this question.

The assassin flipped one of her arm blades and held it underneath Heath’s chin. He didn’t back down from his confident demeanor, but he was all ears for his would-be killer. “When you’re as good as me, money isn’t that hard to come by. I don’t know what kind of lies you’re telling about my client, but these poor suckers don’t go into debt because of politics. They do it because they could never make it in a capitalist meritocracy. That’s my special way of saying they’re fucking lazy.”

“Sure, whatever you say…Harlock!”

Upon hearing the assassin’s name, Aaron slowly lowered his feet to the bloody floor, obviously not caring that much about his designer shoes. “Wait a minute, you know this woman?”

“Not as well as I’d like to, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you learn something about these poor pathetic motherfuckers. The boss man gives you a name, an address, and how much they owe. The rest of the research is up to you, hence why we often resort to calling friends and family to collect the debt. Harlock here doesn’t care about the circumstances of others, which is ironic considering those cyborg parts didn’t come easy in this so-called meritocracy. Besides, if she was really as hot shit as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t have revealed all this information to me. We’d both be dead as fucking fried chicken right now. But as it is…”

“Shut the hell up!” said Harlock as she drew a tiny droplet of blood from Heath’s cheek. He still didn’t budge, only smiled wider as he cleaned the wound off with his finger and licked it.

“Face it, lady,” said Heath. “You don’t want to admit it, but you can see the irony of a debt-burdened assassin working for a debt collection agency. You’re desperate for cash, so you’ll whore your services to anybody who can make shit go away. But the truth is…paying those suckers off ain’t going to solve everything. You would not believe the tricks they pull out of their asses just to keep you paying up. Ever heard of zombie debt? How about fifty percent interest? How about debtor’s prison? They still have that shit.”

Harlock narrowed her bladed eyebrows and dug the weapon deeper into Heath’s skin. He flinched a little bit, but not enough to give away whatever modicum of fear he might have been burdened with. She leaned in and said, “You know nothing about me and my struggles.”

“Exactly! Debt collectors don’t know shit about you, which is why they keep calling your ass in the first place! You could come crying to them with your whole life story and it wouldn’t be enough. They got no heart. They got no soul. If a big ass mega corporation had a heart and soul, they wouldn’t be in business for very long, would they? Capitalism is a bitch.”

Harlock’s eyes slowly lowered to the soggy floor as if Heath’s words got through to her. He took this small window of opportunity to grab her by the arm and swing her blade into her own stomach. While Aaron was in the background this whole time shivering and weeping, Harlock’s mechanical guts spilled all over the ground as she coughed up oil and blood. Heath yanked the blade upwards and split the rest of her upper body in two, bloodying the floor even more than it already was.

“What the hell did you do that for?! She was cooperating!” Aaron screamed.

“Recognizing how badly you’ve fucked up isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card. In case you hadn’t noticed what’s been going on here the past few seconds, look on the ground. That bitch is beyond redemption. Speaking of which, let’s get them cameras rolling again…”

“No! No cameras! No! I’m done with this!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started, Aaron. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Debt collection and sexual harassment all in one story, although that piss stain on your pants will be bigger ratings boost than anything we talk about.”

Aaron spread his shaky legs to see that there was indeed urine on his groin. “Goddamn it!”

Heath shushed him. “Ah, ah, ah! No swearing! There’re children watching!”

T.U.R.D.

VERSE 1

Beneath the surface, trans folks are just like you and me

All they want is to be happy, all they want is to be free

They don’t need you to tell them where they can pee

Or comparing their plights to a mental disability

Who cares about the symbols on a disposable pad?

Is that really all it takes to make you fucking mad?

Who cares if they want to participate in sports?

Is that really all it takes for you to shit in your shorts?

CHORUS

Transgender Undermining Rightwing Demagogue

Put that on a T-shirt, put that in your angry blog

Put that on your MAGA hat just below the words

You ain’t no fucking TERF, you’re just a TURD

VERSE 2

Nobody on the right side of this country’s history

Would ever want to put a transsexual through misery

Never mind the fact they get murdered every day

By the same people who like to say, “That’s so gay!”

CHORUS

Transgender Undermining Rightwing Demagogue

Put that on a T-shirt, put that in your angry blog

Put that on your MAGA hat just below the words

You ain’t no fucking TERF, you’re just a TURD

VERSE 3

We’re all human beings who were born equal

None of us are born with the intentions of evil

Somebody teaches you to hate ordinary people

Whether in your own home or under the steeple

I have a kitty daughter, you know what she hates?

Loud noises from fireworks, end of list, checkmate

If a little fuzzy feline is more loving than you

You should reevaluate what’s red, white, and blue

CHORUS

Transgender Undermining Rightwing Demagogue

Put that on a T-shirt, put that in your angry blog

Put that on your MAGA hat just below the words

You ain’t no fucking TERF, you’re just a TURD

Old Stories, New Genres

***OLD STORIES, NEW GENRES***

Ever since watching and reviewing Jackie Brown and The Hateful Eight, I made it my mission to do the same thing for all of Quentin Tarantino’s movies. One of those movies I plan on watching happens to be Django Unchained. You’ve already heard the name Quentin Tarantino and are probably expecting some controversy to come with these movies. You wouldn’t be wrong no matter what the movie was, but it’s especially true for Django Unchained. Fellow director Spike Lee vowed not to watch it, because, “Slavery was not a spaghetti western. It was a holocaust.” Nobody in their right mind would ever dispute how horrible black slavery was. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds.

Looking at old stories through the lens of a new genre happens to be what most successful storytellers do for a living. In the case of Django Unchained, Quentin Tarantino did indeed turn slavery into a spaghetti western. Ever since watching The Hateful Eight (which is definitely a western, but I’m not sure if it’s a spaghetti western), I’ve had a weird fascination with the genre. Hell, a few weeks ago, I wrote a southern metal song called Spaghetti Western, which you can check out on all of my social media pages (Blogger, Deviant Art, Face Book, and Good Reads). Cheap plug aside, Quentin Tarantino meant no ill will when he made Django Unchained. He gets a lot of heat for being insensitive, but the movies he directs take place in times and locations where insensitivity was the norm. Even in modern day dramas, he has characters using racial slurs, because it’s realistic of their characters, not because he’s a bigoted jerk.

But Quentin Tarantino movies are just one example of what I’m talking about today. Remember all of the talk about SJW’s “ruining” the Star Wars franchise? Well, I hate to break it to you guys, but Star Wars was always about social justice. It’s literally about rebels fighting against a totalitarian government. There are many instances of that happening all throughout history. Star Wars just happened to look at those moments through a science fiction lens with cool light saber battles and Storm Troopers who can’t shoot straight. It was true for A New Hope (which came out in the late 70’s) and it’s still true today. The message hasn’t changed. The complaints have.

And just to show you guys how serious I am about this brand of creative fuel, if any of you know anything horrible about my past and want to look at those life moments through the lens of a new genre, I’d be thrilled to read what you’ve got. You know something about me being bullied in my freshman year of high school? Let’s turn that shit into an epic fantasy! I wouldn’t mind fighting against orc and ogre bullies with a battleaxe or a claymore. What about the time I first started having schizophrenic symptoms? Let’s turn it into…whatever the hell The Matrix is! Hell, I was probably living in The Matrix the whole time I was hallucinating. What about the time I got suspended from college for writing an angry poem about my geology teacher? Is there any way to turn that into wrestling fiction? A spaghetti western? A space opera? Cyberpunk? Actually, cyberpunk would be closer to the truth since I was dumb enough back then to post my poem on the internet.

I understand that Spike Lee is proud of his heritage as well he should be. He should fight for the greater good. He should be an inspiration to all. But picking fights with Quentin Tarantino when he hasn’t even seen the damn movie? Not cool. That won’t help his image in the slightest. Like I said before, I haven’t watched Django Unchained yet, but I desperately want to as part of my quest to fairly review all of Quentin Tarantino’s movies. The key word in that last sentence was fairly, as in I want to give them a chance before I harshly judge them. Does he constantly lay golden eggs? No. Are there parts of his movies worth criticizing? Absolutely. But I can’t make those criticisms until after I see the movie. Even if I DNF the damn thing somewhere in the middle, that’s better than jumping to conclusions any day of the week.

What about you guys? Are there any old stories you want to see through a new genre? Should the Final Fight franchise be told through prehistoric times? Should the Star Wars franchise be told through medieval fantasy? Me personally, I’ve always wanted to see the Gundam franchise get a medieval fantasy reboot. One of the giant robots could be a paladin. Two of them could be smaller robots piloted by goblin twins. Space travel would still be possible and goddamn, does that open up a whole universe of possibilities with storylines and creative fuel. Yes, this was a real idea I had back in my teens. I never followed through on it, because…reasons? Now that I think about it, I’d still like to try this idea out someday, but I can’t use the word Gundam unless I want the copyright whores to strangle my ass in court. But what about you guys? Got any genre remixes you’d like to see?

I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another idea! I could retell Tales From the Dark Side episodes through a medieval fantasy lens! Maybe for once it wouldn’t be so fucking hokey that way! Woo-hoo! Yeah!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

So…I haven’t been very faithful with updates from this novella I’m working on, so here goes nothing. I finished the most recent rewrite back in July, but I didn’t pay for Hollow Hills to critique it until early November. I got my critiques back at the beginning of December. Goddamn, do I have a lot of work ahead of me. The world needs to be fleshed out, the battle and sex scenes need to be toned down, and most importantly…the protagonists have to STOP CRYING ALL THE FUCKING TIME! Okay, Marie Krepps didn’t put it in those words. Plus, I’m prone to exaggeration. But the sentiment is the same. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me before Beautiful Monster is ready for the public. I don’t have a due date for when it’ll be officially published. I thought it would have been this year, but I was too optimistic. And if you think I’ve got a lot to do for Beautiful Monster, just remember…I still have Emilio & Marigold in the chamber!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Who do you think you are? You’ve now gone much too far. Out of the ashes a clear light will shine. A power like the sun, but the heat is all mine. Blinding to all those too close to the light. I’ll bury your souls in the dark of the night. Underground you’ll make no sound. Got nowhere left to go. Things begin, but then they end. The truth it hurts to know. I watch with wonder as you go under. Words to the unwise. The story’s ending and I’m attending the scene of your demise. I bring the darkness. I am the thunder. I come from Hell and I’ll pull you under. I’ll make you feel the wrath of my ways. I’ll make it real. I’ll be your end of days.”

-Baron Corbin’s WWE Theme Music-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Don’t let the lyrics fool you. I’m still abstaining from watching WWE due to their awful programming and I’m not regretting it. Last week on Friday Night Smackdown, Baron Corbin smothered Roman Reigns in dog food. Get it? Because Roman Reigns calls himself The Big Dog? Woof, woof? Hahahahaha…haha…ha…Fuck this company.

"Souls of the Reaper" by Markie Madden

BOOK TITLE: Souls of the Reaper (Undead Unit 2)

AUTHOR: Markie Madden

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Paranormal Crime Drama

GRADE: Pass

I can say with utmost certainty that this novel is an improvement from the last. Sure, it still has its fair share of typos such as quotation marks that don’t end, but those are little things that can be easily fixed. Colton’s werewolf anger was perfectly justified this time around. His truck gets egged, his suspects are uncooperative, technology malfunctions from time to time, and doing paperwork is still a pain in the neck. As for the shifter newbie, Kazz, her passion for learning is evident as it should be for all rookies, especially those in law enforcement. Marcell comes off as a sweet and gentle soul as does Niall, which makes sense since they’re both in the business of healing people. Lacey Anderson is a believable main character in her own right. She’s tough on crime, sensitive to the victims of said crimes, and vulnerable during her moments of weakness. Being immortal creatures doesn’t make any of these protagonists Mary-Sues, because they still have to rely on police procedure and their own wits to get the job done. The overall team is effective in their duties and that’s something they had to earn throughout the Undead Unit series so far.

I only have two minor complaints when it comes to this book and this is just nitpicky stuff. I would have liked for Lacey’s adopted dog Morgan to get more page time, especially since it would’ve kept the fighting kennel raid scene from becoming a mere side story. Plus, I enjoy stories of former fighting animals finding love in their forever homes. It warms my heart. The other minor complaint I had was the way the final chapter (not the epilogue) concluded. The criminal reaper who’s been stealing souls to satisfy his lust for power, Su Xiong, was billed as this dangerous warrior who could snap at any minute. While I won’t give away what happens to him as this is a spoiler-free review, it was just a tad underwhelming for a guy who’s supposed to be as dangerous as he is. Granted, the path to this ending was by no means easy or pain-free, but the streak of agony should have continued into the final encounter. But again, these two complaints don’t ruin the entire story for me. I’ll always cherish Markie Madden’s way of bringing her worlds to life.

Think of your favorite TV crime show, whether it’s NCIS, CSI, Law & Order, or The Shield among others, and pair it with supernatural themes such as soul reaping, astral projection, and undead racism. That hodgepodge is what you can expect from Souls of the Reaper. It’s fun, clever, creative, and you’ll love it so much that you’ll want to see it on TNT or CBS one day as a full-time show. Even Syfy would love to get their hands on this story if it meant turning it into a well-crafted TV series. Four out of five stars will go to Markie Madden’s wonderful police procedural. I hope to one day finish the Undead Unit series!

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

MOVIE TITLE: A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

DIRECTOR: Marielle Heller

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Drama

RATING: PG for violence

GRADE: Extra Credit

After watching this movie and having sore eyeballs as a result, I can say with a hundred percent conviction that the story is completely devoid of Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus. On the contrary, imperfections can be found among every character, including Mr. Fred Rogers himself. He may be a kind and gentle soul in public as well as on TV, but even he admits that he makes mistakes every now and then. He too gets angry. He too feels sad. He too had a tumultuous childhood and married life. The only difference is, he’d rather use positivity and creative therapy as a conduit for his emotions, not violence and rage. It takes work to achieve this kind of attitude towards life. And yes, there are many bumps in the road. Tom Hanks, the actor who played Mr. Rogers, openly admitted to being terrified to play his role. He doesn’t have to be anymore, because he knocked it out of the park. He made me believe in the kindness of Mr. Rogers all over again, imperfections and all.

Lloyd Vogel, the journalist who is assigned to interview Mr. Rogers, has his own share of imperfections. He hates his father, he’s questioning himself as a parent, he’s wrapped up in his work and can’t be there for his family, and he’s stubborn about not wanting to interview a “hokey children’s show host”. To put it mildly, he’s got a lot of anger in his heart and won’t let anybody in. After many interviews with Mr. Rogers, his transformation into a loving and forgiving person becomes the basis for his character development. It’s a slow, distrustful, and heartbreaking transformation. He even shows glimpses of the father he hates so much. If you’re a big fan of character development, you’ll easily get behind Lloyd Vogel. When he cries, you cry. When he’s angry, you’re angry. When he triumphs, you’ll cheer for him. He makes awful decisions, but that doesn’t detract from him being a relatable protagonist.

You know who else has a lot of growing up to do? Jerry Vogel, Lloyd’s aforementioned jerk of a father. He mocks his son at the beginning of the movie and the two get physical over it (hence the PG rating for violence). Jerry slept around while the mother of the family was dying. He abandoned the family when they needed him the most. But it’s easy to tell that he’s a sleazebag from the minute he first appears on the screen. The rest of these revelations come naturally. But is he a redeemable character? Can he too go through a transformation and mend fences with his son? Yes, he’s a sleazebag, but if he was perfect and gallant all the time, there’d be no story and there’d be nothing to cheer for as the movie progresses. You like character development, right? You like slow transformations? You like redemption stories? Keep an eye on Jerry Vogel. Will your patience pay off? Watch the movie and find out.

As I mentioned before, my eyes got sore during the more emotional moments of this movie. None of it came across as cheesy. This was genuine emotion and nobody knew more about how to deal with our emotions than Fred Rogers himself. It takes time. It takes patience. But it’s worth it in the end. That’s what this movie means to me. That’s why this movie gets a solid five out of five stars. A perfect grade for a movie about imperfect people. It truly is a beautiful day in the neighborhood. There better be some award victories for this movie.

Crippled

“Where the hell is the goddamn delivery boy?” asked Joe Herzog as she laid in bed with ice on her swollen knee. The ice did a tremendous job of numbing her pain. Getting pissed off over a late breakfast burrito did not, as evidenced by her hissing noise. “Why does the damn tournament have to be a week away? This is horseshit! All that work for nothing!” She pounded her mattress and sent another jolt through her leg. “Damn it!”

Figuring it wasn’t a good idea to wait in bed for the delivery boy, Joe wrapped her knee in a heavy black bandage and hobbled out of the bedroom wearing just a white T-shirt and blue sleeping shorts. Every hop had her mumbling, “Ouch!” in a low, grumpy voice. Anybody who made it to the finals of a martial arts tournament only to go down with an injury would be grumpy as well.

Her tiny gnome body made looking at her hallway of trophies and medals a chore. Twisting her neck backwards just to look at second place accolades made her shake her head in disgust. “This is bullshit…this is fucking bullshit…” She resumed mumbling, “Ouch!” as she hobbled down the hall of shame and into the living room.

Resting across her tree stump table was a blue karate dress, one she wouldn’t be wearing again for a long time. Joe wiped away a singular tear with her finger before hobbling and cursing towards the table. “I should probably just set this damn thing on fire. Besides which, who the hell wears a dress into combat? It ain’t like…” She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror and frowned at what she perceived to be a lack of beauty. Joe sighed and sat down on her eiderdown couch. “I’ll get rid of that damn dress some other time. Goddamn knee injury…”

All Joe wanted to do was close her eyes and relax until her food got here. The throbbing and pulsating of her knee kept her eyes wide open no matter how comfortable she tried to make herself. And then…there was a knock on the door. More like a feverous pounding that got louder every time Joe tried to ignore it. “That better be my food or else I’m jamming this good for nothing leg up someone’s ass.”

The pounding of both Joe’s heart and front door resumed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” She hobbled over to the rune-covered entrance, where the pounding grated on her ears some more. “I said I’m coming, damn it! This better be good!” Reaching for the doorknob on her tippy-toes, she almost fell over as she swung the door wide open. “It’s about damn time! Uh-oh…”

It wasn’t a delivery boy. The only food this man was carrying was in his wide gut, about three hundred pounds worth. The scaly orange skin, the dragon-like face, the rotund frame, and the jeans held up by suspenders. A cold sweat broke out over Joe’s face as she fell backwards, giving her a better view of “The Chiropractor” Bargon Sevili. The moniker was silly to her until she remembered that amateur wrestling was his strong suit. She swallowed a lump and said, “Bargon…wha…what are you doing here? The finals aren’t until next week.”

Bargon leaned his drooling face down and said in a deep, raspy voice, “Yes, I know!” He slathered his tongue across his already slimy lips. “Sweet gee-nee girl! Lovable midget pie! Love muffin! Come here and let me…”

Joe screamed in terror before he could finish his cutesy-wutesy sentence. She scrambled to get back up on one leg, but kept falling over and sending more shockwaves through her crippled knee. Her clutches and whiny screams didn’t earn enough sympathy from Bargon to get him to wipe his smile off of his face. In fact, his deafening footsteps on the stone floor made Joe’s head throb worse than her knee.

Instead of trying to get up, Joe crawled across her filthy stone floor using just her elbows to drag her little body. Bargon took his sweet time in approaching his opponent, though the thudding of his boots didn’t help in giving Joe any comfort. She crawled so quickly that cuts and bruises formed on her arms. She swung her bedroom door open and crawled some more.

With adrenaline flooding her system like a biblical disaster, she endured even more scrapes as she hurried over to her wooden chest. She nearly popped her arm out of her socket reaching for the latch, but open it she did. Joe stood up on both legs, her sense of urgency allowing her to numb out her knee pain. The faster she dug through her belongings, the louder the footsteps pounded. Her hands shook as she fiddled with a metal object and some tiny shells.

She loaded the shells into her single barrel shotgun as fast as she could, though not without having to pick them up after dropping them repeatedly. “Guess who, sugar britches!” Bargon taunted in his saccharine ogre voice. Joe didn’t give a shit about her knee anymore. She stood terra firma in the center of her room locked and loaded, her bruised arms still trembling with fear.

The minute Bargon kicked the door open and said, “Ta-da!”, Joe pulled the trigger. She needed this easy victory over someone who was supposed to wait until next week to fight her. She needed to be in first place for once in her life. But the shotgun jammed and blew her backwards, sending her crashing through her glass window and into the grass. Shards ripped at her flesh. Her arms were embedded with glass. Her knee pain flared up to infernal levels. Little droplets of blood stained the grass beneath her. She whined and cried like the second place loser she was.

Even on soft grass and dirt, Bargon’s footsteps grew more obnoxious the closer he got to his victim. He had to squeeze his wide ass through the broken window, but he arrived at his destination all the same. He held the shotgun over Joe’s blood-covered face and snapped it over his knee. He discarded the broken pieces and dusted his hands off like it was nothing. Leaning his head down so that he could be eye-level with Joe, he said, “Give me your knee, you sweet piece of pumpkin pie!”

“Oh god…Oh my god…Please, just get it over with. Anywhere but the knee. Literally anywhere else!”

Despite Joe’s pathetic begging, Bargon indeed grabbed her by the injured leg, causing her to cry out in agony. After picking off a few pieces of glass and getting even more ocular juices out of Joe, he asked, “Are you ready, little darling?”

“…As ready as I’ll ever be…” whimpered Joe as she covered her face with her scarred arms.

“Good, because this is going to hurt like a bitch!” Bargon made good on his promise. He yanked on the injured leg and had Joe yelling in a high pitched, demonic tone.

It did hurt like a bitch. It was the most agonizing thing Joe had been through. But the best part about it? It only hurt for a few seconds. And then the pain was gone. Was she in heaven? Was St. Peter already opening the pearly gates for her? No, she was still on planet earth outside her home. She uncovered her face and wiggled her leg. No pain. She knew the injury was still there, but she didn’t feel like dying afterwards. “You…you really are a chiropractor? Um…uh…thanks?”

Bargon grabbed Joe by her shirt and leaned in so that they were nose-to-nose. His breath radiated with skunk odors, probably due to him not brushing his fangs in a long time. “I don’t need your thanks, Joey-Bowie. All I need from you is to be one hundred percent in the finals next week. That way, when I beat the living piss out of you, there’ll be no excuses. No knee injuries, no glass shards, no bullshit. If you lose to me and get second place again, you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself. You got it?” He threw her against the grass and said, “See you next week, sugar plum” before blowing her a kiss and walking away.

Any gratitude Joe felt for her opponent twisted in the wind when she noticed a foil-wrapped burrito sticking out of his back pocket. “Hey! That’s my breakfast, you asshole!”

Bargon pulled the burrito out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and took a massive bite out of it. With a full mouth, he said, “It’s my breakfast now! Besides, if you want to beat me in the finals and be a winner for the first time in your mediocre career, you’ve got to eat better than this. You’re getting a little chunky around the belly. See you soon!”

As the demonic ogre walked away, Joe clenched her fists and stood up, her knee staying pain free the entire time. She wasn’t thinking about burning her karate dress anymore. She wasn’t looking at her second place accolades with scorn. After a morning like this one, Joe Herzog had all the motivation she could ever want. She would train as hard as she damn well could. She would pump more iron, run more laps, and beat the training bag like it owed her a breakfast burrito.

With her muscles bulging and the shaky adrenaline morphing into raw anger, Joe shouted out, “You should have killed me when you had the chance, you fat pig! I’m not just going to beat you in the finals! I’m going to destroy your career! You hear me, Bargon Sevili?! You’re a dead motherfucker!” Joe raised her fists to the sky and let out a primal scream to anyone who would listen, letting them know that motivation was not an issue anymore.

Large Groups of Characters

***LARGE GROUPS OF CHARACTERS***

“The Way-Back Machine is all warmed up, Mr. Peabody!”

Good boy, Sherman. Now let’s go back to the late 1990’s in Chehalis, Washington, where I was a pre-teen playing Dungeons & Dragons with a large group of my brother’s friends. Pay close attention to the “large group” part of that last sentence. It didn’t matter if I was a level one human fighter with a true neutral attitude. It didn’t matter if my character was destined to become a badass somewhere down the line. That prophecy never came to fruition in this particular role-play. You want to know what my character did? You want to know what his big contribution to the experience was? Smashing a whiskey barrel over somebody’s head. That’s it. End of story. The rest of the role-playing session was a whole lot of jack shit. Whenever the DM asked me what I wanted to do next, I’d just languidly say, “Go with them.”

From that day forward, I only agreed to D&D sessions with small groups of people or strictly one-on-one with the DM. When too many characters invade one story, there’s not enough room for them to get their shit in. They get shoved to the background in favor of others. There’s no room for development. Or in my case, all I got to do was smash a wooden barrel over somebody’s head…and not a goddamn thing more. Whenever I write novels, I always make sure to keep my protagonists down to a manageable number like two or three. That way, everybody gets a chance at character development in the relatively small space that constitutes the word count benchmark for novellas. Bigger adventuring parties are designed for works that are longer. Me? I don’t have the mental endurance to write something long enough to include an army of three-dimensional characters.

This heavy burden of characters is something often seen in professional wrestling as well, not just with books and movies. It’s one of the reasons why the WWE Divas Revolution was so poorly received in 2015. Nine women had to share X minutes of TV time, which means nobody got developed, nobody had any real motivations, nobody had personality, and there was no real end game to it all. To put it bluntly, it was a cluster fuck that resulted in the Wrestling Observer Newsletter giving it a Worst Feud of the Year award. It also placed second in that year’s list of Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics and third in the list of Worst Gimmicks. There’s only so much TV time to go around, which means smaller groups take priority if there’s ever a chance at character development.

Of course, not all characters have to be three-dimensional. Some characters were designed to be extras and that’s okay. But if you’re going to make a character an extra, be prepared for the lack of emotional investment that comes with it. A mass slaughter of innocent civilians doesn’t hold nearly as much weight in a Marvel or DC movie as the death of a character the audience actually cares about. The more you care, the more it will hurt. Why do you think people in real life get choked up about family members dying, but won’t blink an eye at an elderly celebrity passing the pearly gates? Celebrities are nice, but they’re not as connected to us as our truly loved ones. The same logic applies with stories where there’s a large number of protagonists.

Having said these things, I can still think of a few examples where it’s okay to care about big groups of people. In “The Savior’s Champion” by Jenna Moreci, there are twenty combatants in the Sovereign’s Tournament. You know they will eventually die per the rules of the game, but when they do, it’ll hurt worse than a Kaleo knee to the ribcage. Then again, that novel is at least five hundred pages long, so Ms. Moreci has given herself a lot of space to work with. Same thing with the old SNES videogame Final Fantasy VI. It takes weeks to beat, which means a large group of playable characters can thrive in that environment. You’ll care about Sabin Figaro. You’ll give more than two shits about Mog. You’ll give lots of flying fucks about Cyan Garamonde. Please do play that game if you’re into the classics. What about Lord of the Rings? Well, each movie in the trilogy is three butt-numbing hours long. You think that’s more than enough time to develop a big ass group of characters? Fuck yeah it is!

But if it’s really dependent on the length of the story, then why don’t I just write longer stories? Why can’t Beautiful Monster be 100,000 words instead of 45,000? Because a story’s completion has nothing to do with how long it is. Yes, it’s a shorter novella, but it’s a complete story. Even in its early draft phase, it has a beginning, middle, and end. The two main protagonists, Windham Xavier and Tarja Rikkinen, are only two people, which means they get lots of time to develop and grow as characters. Everybody else can claim the spotlight for themselves because my main character roster isn’t that big. But why not make my story longer and include more characters? Does it really need more characters? Can the few that I have not carry the story on their own? Besides, like I mentioned before, I don’t have the mental endurance to write longer stories. I’d be nice if I had it, but superpowers aren’t really a thing yet, so I’ll have to stick to the short stuff.

So the moral of the story is, if you want people to care about your large group of characters, make sure your medium is long enough for their individual developments. It can be done, but not by me, because I don’t feel the need to stretch myself beyond my means. The same will apply to any Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I run in the future: the smaller the group, the smaller the headaches. Everybody will get their shit in. They’ll mean more to my fictional world than smashing a whiskey barrel over somebody’s head. This isn’t a WWE battle royal with a bloated roster full of tainted characters. This is creative writing. Although, if Vince McMahon (who gets the last word on WWE’s creative processes) wrote a novel of any kind, I’d want to read it just because I can’t avert my eyes from a train wreck. I’m Garrison Kelly! Happy Thanksgiving! Eat lots of turkey! I know I will!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(Circa 2013)

JAMES: Hey Garrison, why are you being pissy?

GARRISON: I’m not!

JAMES: You’re being pissy.

GARRISON: I’M NOT!

JAMES: Yes, you are, you’re being very pissy.

GARRISON: I’m not!

JAMES: Come on, Garrison, be happy, get excited.

GARRISON: About what?

JAMES: I don’t know. Life.

GARRISON: Can I be excited about that cardboard box over there?

JAMES: Sure, why not?

***POST-SCRIPT***

True story: I told my Face Book followers that I was going to the Regal Cinemas today to watch A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. I backed out at the last minute, because the entire day I was feeling grumpier than usual. I snapped at everything and expended a lot of physical energy screaming at little shit. But that’s okay, because it’ll still play Saturday night when all of the Thanksgiving and Black Friday hoo-ha has died down.

Already Dead

VERSE 1

Your comedic delivery fell on deaf ears

Loyal sheep were the only source of cheers

You exploited death just for a punch line

Shrugged your shoulders like it was all fine

You’re not funny, if you were, I would laugh

You used to be cool in the distant past

Now that my eyes are wide fucking open

I know what the hell a clichéd trope is

CHORUS

He’s already dead

Can he finally rest?

He’s already dead

Enough with the mess!

VERSE 2

You’d commit necrophilia just for a joke

Commit grave robbery to spite the woke

Keep your millionaire ass from going broke

Keep your career from going up in smoke

The ones who loved him want your head

You should be the one on your deathbed

You should be the one who is violated

You’re the only one who is overrated

CHORUS

He’s already dead

Can he finally rest?

He’s already dead

Enough with the mess!

BRIDGE

Heaven forbid we be entertained

Heaven forbid you use your brain

Heaven forbid you get off the hate train

Heaven forbid we’re absolved from shame

VERSE 3

You call us immature for our literary tastes

When it comes to autocracy, we’re to blame

I never knew until now you were full of shit

But you disguise your hatred as a comedy bit

I’m changing the channel to something better

While you’re looking for a safe space protector

You can dish it out, but can’t take the heat

Everybody knows you’re easy to defeat

CHORUS

He’s already dead

Can he finally rest?

He’s already dead

Enough with the mess!

FINAL LINE

Excelsior, motherfuckers!

Two-Sentence Horror Stories: Third Strike

Bart Simpson laughed his ass off when he spray painted a penis and testicles on the side of Mr. Burns’s mansion. He screamed in terror when Burns caught him in the act, to which the Nuclear Power Plant tycoon unzipped his own fly and said, “You’re the perfect height for what I’m about to make you do, little boy!”

Travis texted his European girlfriend with grinning and heart emojis while calling her a “Beautiful Bulgarian”. He had a kiwi-sized lump in his throat when his phone auto-corrected his message to “Beautiful Bulge Area” before sending it.

Sammy drove cautiously on a winding mountain road with no guard rails while his wife and baby son snoozed in the back together. For some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to start texting on his smart phone.

A hulking ogress with rotting flesh, maggot-infested fingernails, and drill bit fangs burst through Grayson’s front door with a leonine belch and a paternity test in her hands. While Grayson cowered and shivered behind the easy chair, the ogress tossed the test results in his lap and said, “Congratulations, asshole!”

A stacked WWE Wrestlemania pay-per-view featured the main event of “The Monster Among Men” Braun Strowman vs. “The Modern Day Maharaja” Jinder Mahal for the latter’s WWE Championship in a first blood match. The match ended in five seconds when Jinder poked Braun with a sewing needle and drew a tiny drop of blood, causing the ripped-off fans to destroy the arena in a fiery riot.

Middle school sex ed was off to a rowdy start when the children screamed like banshees and threw paper airplanes at each other. They grew silent, shaky, and wide-eyed when the evilly-grinning professor wrote his name on the chalkboard, which was Mr. Ray Pugh.

Melissa clutched her chest and fought for oxygen when she saw that somebody on Face Book with a Pepe the Frog icon posted a countdown clock for her newborn baby’s eighteenth birthday. She nearly had a conniption when somebody else posted underneath it, “Why wait?”

Colton squirmed and ached in his bent over position while Dr. Smith performed a colonoscopy on him. Colton jumped out of his skin when the doctor said in a jolly voice, “Hey look, we’ve got half a million hits on You Tube!”

Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader engaged in an epic light saber battle that saw Vader slice off Luke’s arm. As young Skywalker doubled over in pain, Vader breathed deeply in his ear and said, “Luke…I am your husband!”

Paul logged onto his Porn Hub account in hopes of finding a live teen webcam feed. He nearly lost both his erection and his sanity when he heard a familiar comedian’s voice on the other end of the feed yell, “Hey, hey, hey, come try my king sized pudding pop!”

Shane couldn’t wait to start his new job at Analytical Weaponry, Inc. That was, until he drove up to his workplace and saw the company name on a neon sign, which had all of the letters after the first L in the word Analytical blown out.

George opened his email and found a message demanding fourteen thousand dollars in exchange for keeping quiet about his porn viewing habits. To show there was no playing around, the extortionist put George’s password in the title of the email.

Anderson took a few puffs of his cigarette before coughing up black pudding all over the floor. His stomach ached and his throat soured when he saw that the tar blob had teeth and feces attached to it.

Stacy approached a hotdog cart and asked for a six-inch Polish sausage. Pee-Wee Herman emerged from his crouched position laughing like a madman with his penis sandwiched in a hotdog bun, complete with “mustard, ketchup, and relish” dripping from the tip.

Mary Poppins floated into London with a grimy man on her arm. As she arrived for her babysitting job, she introduced him to the children as Peter File.

“I’m lost without you, my love,” said Prince Charming. He gave his girlfriend a passionate tongue kiss before closing the casket one last time.

“I’d really like to give you a hand job right now,” said Sedona before licking her rosy red lips. Her lover nearly had a heart attack when she pulled off her arm glove and revealed bladed monster fingers underneath.

It is the middle ground between whiny and angry, between involuntary celibacy and a mass shooting, between a toxic romance and full-blown hostility. This is the dimension of pornographic imagination, an area which we call…The Friend Zone!

After Glenn refused to answer the phone, a robotic voice on the answering machine said, “Please return the call to Charles Dahmer at 1-800-666-5150. This is an attempt to collect your blood and any information obtained will be used for that purpose.”

Chase entered his massive pickup truck and blew into the ignition interlock device. After registering a blood alcohol level of 0.87, he was able to start his vehicle and speed off into the busy night.

Marcus shivered in a cold sweat as he paced around his room for hours waiting for his girlfriend to text him back. His tongue and throat dried when she finally sent him a text saying, “We need to talk.”

“Introducing his opponent fighting out of the red corner: a serial killer and totalitarian dictator who holds a spotless record of thirty-two victims, I mean, wins and no losses, stands at 7’3”, weighs in at 500 lbs., and fights out of Charlottesville, Virginia by way of Jeddah, Saudi Arabia with a pit stop in North Korea…Bone Saw…McGraw! And when the action begins, our referee in charge of the octagon is Steve Mazzigatti.”

On the morning of Valentine’s Day, a grinning Britney excitedly opened a heart-shaped box from her secret admirer. She screamed and dropped it because instead of chocolates, the box contained the bloody remnants of her aborted son.

Mitchell’s stomach gurgled and growled after eating twenty Carolina Reaper hot wings in a row without even a sip of milk. Fifteen minutes of sweating and tearing up later, when it was his turn to use the toilet, he pulled his pants down and his intestines fell out.

Lexi opened a package hoping it was diapers for her children’s charity drive. Her jaw hit the floor when she found out they were adult diapers with a semen-soaked note saying, “These would look really hot on you, Sexy-Lexi!”

Little Debbie skipped up to a cobweb-covered house dressed as a princess and said, “Trick or Treat!” to the wolf man, who had a pot of candy on his lap. She reached inside and cried buckets when she touched the werewolf’s warm and greasy Snickers bar, which was poking through a hole he cut in the bottom of the pot.

Leonard awakened in the middle of the night to find hundreds of hairy tarantulas crawling all over his naked body and sinking their fangs into his flesh. He tried to scream for help, but one of them crawled inside his mouth and clogged his throat.

Helgor the Barbarian wrapped his massive hands around the goblin’s throat and watched his eyeballs bulge and his face turn bright blue. Helgor whispered seductively into his victim’s ear, “This would be a good time for Autoerotic Asphyxiation!”

After hours of body-shredding labor, Wendy pushed one last time and gave birth to her baby boy. The doctor wrapped the bloody mess in a blanket and said, “Congratulations, it’s a porcupine!”

Bethany and her husband laid naked in bed next to each other while attempting to catch their breath. She smiled at him, licked her fingers, and said, “I haven’t creamed that hard in a long time, Uncle Cletus!”

Tucker browsed through the doggies and kitties at the animal shelter and had a cutesy-wutesy smile on his face the entire time. The adoption agent approached him with a clipboard and said, “Let me know which animal you want and I’ll be sure to send you home with a package of condoms.”

Joker

MOVIE TITLE: Joker

DIRECTOR: Todd Phillips

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Psychological Thriller

RATING: R for violence, swearing, and disturbing themes

GRADE: Extra Credit

Humanizing a violent criminal is a tall task in and of itself. Getting sympathy for any kind of character is harder than it looks (trust me, I’ve tried). When you watch this movie, not only will you have sympathy for Arthur Fleck a.k.a. The Joker, but you’ll cheer for him as well. There’s more to building a sympathetic villain than throwing in a tragic back story and calling it a day. This movie went above and beyond in developing the Joker character. He’s mentally ill, he’s rejected by society because of his awkward behavior, he’s impoverished, and he’s the target of violence just as much as he’s the instigator. While people wouldn’t under any circumstances condone his violent behavior, they will at least understand it. They might even learn to treat fellow members of society with respect. Nobody starts out as an evil person. They’re slowly built into one by the forces around them. Again, it doesn’t excuse Joker’s murders nor does it give the incel community an idol to look up to. But the more we see each other as human beings, the more we act like human beings.

Of course, none of this sympathy would have been possible if not for the brilliant acting work of Joaquin Phoenix, who played The Joker. In fact, Mr. Phoenix might be telling Heath Ledger to hold his beer (no disrespect to Mr. Ledger). The pathological laughter, the nervousness around strangers, the poor cadence of his jokes, the sadness when he’s alone, they all looked believable coming from Joaquin Phoenix. Mental illness is a lonely obstacle for someone to overcome. Nobody wanted to be around The Joker when he was at his worst and the actor brought that loneliness to life through his character work. It took a lot of studying and reading in order to get this villain down perfectly. Mr. Phoenix’s passion for what he does is obvious in his roles. If he doesn’t get an Oscar for this performance, I’m going to be very surprised and upset. Granted, I won’t give the Army nervous fits with my level of disappointment and nor should anybody else. You hear that, terrorists? Be nice!

Somewhere in this nature vs. nurture debate, there’s a modern day dystopia happening all around The Joker. Garbage is piling up, rats are infesting the city, the disenfranchised are being bullied, social programs are being cut, and poverty is at an all time high. When politicians and oligarchs use their influence to enrich themselves at the expense of others, distrust starts to build between the social classes. It doesn’t always end in riots and violence, but sitting down and doing nothing doesn’t cross their minds either. In many ways, the dystopian politics of this movie reminds me a lot of what’s going on in the real world under the Trump administration. So we have a realistic Joker and a realistic political system. Superhero movies get a bad rap for being cartoonish and comical, right? You know what Joaquin Phoenix and the rest of the crew says to that? “Hold our beers.”

Everything that could go right with this movie did go right. It’s gritty, it’s real, it’s dark, and nothing was out of place. Keeping a smile on your face all of your life is close to impossible. It’s okay to feel bad sometimes. Toxic positivity did nobody any good. But if you must rage against the machine with a nihilistic point of view, don’t cross the point of no return like The Joker did. An extra credit grade will go to this modern day masterpiece. Now THAT’S something worth smiling about!

Death Bed Sellout

If you don’t like the way I vote

Jam my penis down your throat

If you don’t like the way I eat

Unzip my jeans and beat my meat

If you don’t like the way I write

Be prepared to lose a fistfight

If you don’t like the way I talk

Open wide and suck my cock

If you don’t like the people I love

Put on a pair of boxing gloves

I’ll never be your death bed sellout

If you don’t like it, get the hell out

Sorry not sorry for your precious feels

I promise you your wounds will heal

I’m the only one who chooses my path

It’s not rocket science or three-D math

If you don’t like the way I’m living

You’re the one who needs forgiving

The Crazy Ones

The background bickering should have been an obvious harbinger of things to come for Tai. But all that clouded his imagination was Mother Nature’s most beautiful features. Rolling ocean waves washed away the harsh noise. The mountain breeze cooled him off. The desert sun baked him like a batch of fresh cookies. An angelic harpist plucked her strings while her gorgeous voice haunted his mind. Tai could have stayed in this meditative trance forever had it not been for two cellmates who didn’t have gorgeous voices of their own.

“You are such a goddamn idiot!” yelled Electra Shadowwolf, her barbed voice snapping Tai’s eyes open. Of all the muscles on her barbaric frame she could have used that day, she decided her index finger was the most powerful one as she pointed at her partner in crime.

Diesel Reznor swatted Electra’s hand away with his dragon claws and snapped, “This is your fault, you dumb bitch! I don’t know why you’re pointing that ugly ass finger at me! You should be pointing that shit at yourself!”

Tai held his exposed skull in his hand as the dragon man and the barbarian’s conversation degenerated into a cacophonic mess. He couldn’t even tell what they were saying anymore. “Could you two shut the hell up for a minute?” he calmly said to no response, just more shouting. The way their voices echoed off of brick prison walls gave Tai an explosive migraine. He wished someone would smash him over the head with a club and give him a permanent route to peace.

When the throaty voices began to give him schizophrenia, Tai sat up from his cross-legged position and slowly approached his arguing comrades. Despite having a creepy skeleton in an orange kung fu robe staring them down, Diesel and Electra’s attention spans remained on each other and the screaming continued to give aneurisms to anybody who listened.

“Shut!” belted Tai as he snap-kicked Diesel in the stomach and doubled him over. “Up!” He did the same to Electra, causing both of his cohorts to cough and wheeze. Tai didn’t wait for them to catch their breath. He grabbed Diesel by his purple scales and Electra by her brunette hair.

“You two dimwits had one job,” Tai silently seethed. “One…fucking…job. All you had to do was guard the front entrance and you couldn’t even do that correctly. That’s why we’re in here and as far as I’m concerned, it’s both of your faults.” He gave them both a gorgon death stare and whispered, “Shut your asses up and let me meditate. If I have to tell you one more time, I’ll kick you in the head so fucking hard you’ll forget how to wipe your own asses! Are we clear?”

Electra’s fearful expression showed that she understood loud and clear. Diesel, on the other hand, shoved Tai to the ground with one clawed hand as soon as he regained his breath.

“You’re just as much to blame as we are,” Diesel argued while Tai glared at his opponent, unafraid. “If you’re that good at kicking somebody’s head off, why didn’t you do it to the goddamn guards?” Diesel burped, his saggy belly wiggling over his black trousers. “You’re supposed to be some kind of ninja samurai badass, right? Well, all I saw back at the bank was a skinny little prick! And why the hell was I the one guarding the door? I should be the one smashing heads and taking names!”

“You know…it’s not too late to give it a try, you fat bastard. Go ahead. I’m lying on the ground. I’m practically begging you to show me what you’ve got!” said Tai, waving a hand over to Diesel to summon him over.

“Speaking of idiots!” said Electra, her beefy arms crossed over her fur tunic. “If you morons keep this shit up long enough, the guards will throw us all on solitary! We need a plan! We need to talk to our fucking lawyers!”

“You really think some piss-ant public defender is going to get us out of here?” growled Diesel, his scaly nose inches away from Electra’s cavewoman visage. “We’re done for, Electra! This is the last hurrah! And besides, is it really that bad being in solitary confinement? I could use a vacation away from you two dorks!”

Tai nipped up and scowled at Diesel. “And how exactly are you going to benefit from being in a dark room all by yourself? You’d go crazy within the first five seconds. You’d have tears running down your disgusting face like a goddamn waterfall. At least I have my meditation to keep me at peace. You? You’ve got a whole lot of nothing going on in that thick skull of yours. Then again, thinking never really was your strong suit and if it was, we wouldn’t be in jail right now.”

“You little bitch!” snorted Diesel, throwing the first punch in this eventual battle. His heavy arm whooshed right past Tai’s ducking head. Diesel threw another punch and missed again. Then he attempted a kick to Tai’s ribs, but got his leg caught by the wily skeleton.

Tai wagged his finger at his opponent before laying backwards and cinching in a leg lock on Diesel’s thick calf. The dragon fell backwards and wailed in agony while Tai twisted and cranked on the leg. Diesel even tried tapping out, but Tai cinched tighter and tighter while Electra watched on apparently not knowing what to do or who to cheer for. A bone snapped and Diesel’s screams were even more obnoxious and annoying than when he was arguing with Electra, who stood in the corner with her hand over her mouth in shock.

Tai nipped up and gazed down at his writhing opponent, shaking his head in contempt. He then fixed his wicked stare upon Electra, who shook uncontrollably at what she’d witnessed. “You’ve got a problem?” asked Tai, who stepped on Diesel’s injury on his way to hunting down the barbarian woman before him. “I asked you a question, you ditzy piece of fuck. I said…is there a problem?!”

Electra’s breathing intensified and her eyes widened as she slowly dropped on her butt. “Guards! Help!” she cried out, prompting Tai to grab her by the throat and yank her back up to her feet. His skeletal fingers squeezed her trachea until blood leaked from behind her teeth. In one last desperate attempt at freedom, Electra threw a weak punch to the side of Tai’s temple, but he just smiled and shrugged it off.

“I love it when my favorite women scream for me. Maybe that’ll be something I can meditate on once this is all over.” Tai took a bite out of Electra’s face and chomped off her nose, causing blood and brains to spew out from the gaping hole. While she choked on her life juices, Tai grinned widely as he slowly masticated and swallowed Electra’s nose. “Delicious! It can’t be any worse than the food they serve here in prison, am I right?” No response, only chokes. “I said am I right?!” Too late. She plopped on the ground in a necromantic mess.

“Where are the goddamn guards?!” whined Diesel as he tried to crawl backwards to whatever safety he could muster.

“Funny you should mention that, Diesel. I’ve been asking the same question since you botched our bank robbery. I never did get the answer I was looking for. That’s okay. I don’t need one.” Tai stomped on Diesel’s broken leg repeatedly until it was completely detached from his body. Blood pooled out of the dragon’s wound and his screams became weaker and weaker. Tai smiled down upon his former friend and stomped on his sternum, rubbing his foot in the wound and exploding his massive, fat-covered dragon heart.

“What the hell’s going on in here?!” shouted one of the guards as they rushed in from behind their post. They stared with horror through the bars at the bloody scene: Tai smiling like a demon while Diesel and Electra laid on the ground mangled and obliterated.

The martial arts skeleton mockingly did backstrokes over the puddle of blood on the ground while asking, “Well, boys…are you going to take me to my special little room? Have I been a bad boy today?” Tai laughed like a savage as the guards unlocked the door in a big fucking hurry and yanked him by the arms to solitary confinement.

The darkness soothed Tai’s nerves and kept that hideous grin plastered to his bony face. “Ah…no more idiots screaming at each other. I can finally relax.” He did just that. He sat cross-legged on his bed. He dreamed of the mountain breezes. He bathed in the cool waters of the beach. He breathed in the cologne-like scents of the forest. Diesel and Electra argued about stupid shit. Again. And again. And again.

“No…no…NO! Stop it! Make them go away! Let me out of here!” shouted Tai as he clutched his skull in agony. He could scream all he wanted, but nobody would hear him except the darkness itself and the schizophrenic voices that haunted his mind. Electra and Diesel’s bellyaching grated against his ears. The vessels in his brain enlarged as if they were ready to pop at a moment’s notice.

Then the bank guards taunted him. Then the angel with the harp played the same annoying tune over and over again. If only somebody would smash Tai’s skull in and put a permanent end to his agony. But how does he look for a tool of suicide in such a dark place? Where were the walls? Where were the bars? Where was anybody? “HELP ME, I’M BEGGING YOU!” Nobody answered. Nobody cared.

Spaghetti Western

VERSE 1

A harbinger of things to come

Foreheads spitting out bubblegum

Mexican guitarists playing their strums

Spaghetti western, come get some

CHORUS 1

Hey, Sergio! Keep that camera rolling

Hey, Ennio! Keep that music lulling

Hey, cowboy! Should I shoot your ass again?

Spaghetti western! You’re fucking dead!

VERSE 2

Bullets flying in the Spanish sunset

Dynamite blasting, we ain’t done yet

A fistful of dollars, a bellyful of lead

Spaghetti western, bleed them red

CHORUS 2

Hey, Luigi! Take the role of hero

Hey, Giuseppe! Be my Robert Di Niro

Hey, cowboy! Are you ready for a fight?

Spaghetti western! Let’s light up the night!

BRIDGE

We’re taking over the silver screen

Making the bloodthirsty cream

Is it rated R or somewhere beyond?

This ain’t no time for a family bond

VERSE 3

Another sunset darkens the horizon

Another victory is all mine, son

Another masterpiece caught on film

Spaghetti western, shoot to kill

CHORUS 3

Hey, Mario! Put down the pizza pie

Hey, Nero! Be my blackheart bad guy

Hey, cowboy! Comfy in your grave?

Spaghetti western! You can’t be saved!

Yee-haw!