Crash Your Car

 VERSE 1

Screaming obscenities from your death machine

You’ve got some testicles the size of jelly beans

You’ve got a backbone like a number two pencil

Proudly write that shit down on a military stencil

It’s the luck of the draw that the two of us meet

Your party can only win if they fucking cheat

You can yell that shit with a bullhorn blaster

Your leash gets tighter in the hands of your master

CHORUS 1

I hope you crash your car and break your neck

I hope you burn to ashes in a fiery wreck

Maybe in the next life you should pump the brakes

Not confirm to the world your birth was a mistake

VERSE 2

I know we’ll never ever see each other again

If you have any left, go hide behind your friends

Go hide behind the privilege you had since a baby

Stop spitting your hatred like a mouthful of rabies

CHORUS 2

I hope you crash your car and break your ass

Unleash some sewage in your seat as well as gas

Maybe in the next life you should make a U-turn

Your vocabulary ain’t got room for sick burns

VERSE 3

The world left your ass behind a long time ago

Your noisy engine is fast, but your mind is slow

Maybe if you floor the pedal, you might catch up

But nobody’s allegiance is yours to snatch up

CHORUS 3

I hope you crash your car and smash your skull

With a fractured jaw, it’s hard to talk some bull

With a splattered brain, you’re not changing much

Maybe in the next life you should pull the clutch

I hope you crash your car and burn forever in hell

You’ll be dancing forever in a pyromantic spell

Maybe if you make your way back to the earth

You can be somebody who isn’t lower than dirt

I'm So Sad

 VERSE 1

If I cry about depression and the tiredness after

You’ll contrast my problems to natural disasters

If I curl into a ball and say that nothing matters

You’ll attribute my problems to getting fatter

If I reach out my hand and touch your fingers

You’ll slap my face and the pain will linger

You’re an advocate until my tears pour down

You’ll grab a canoe while I suffer and drown

CHORUS 1

If I don’t shout this at the top of my lungs

I might as well rip out my own damn tongue

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

VERSE 2

Everyone around me is falling in love

I’m a jealous bastard, I can’t get enough

Everyone around me is getting their coin

I’d do it myself, but then what’s the point?

Everyone around me is winning at life

Everyone around me is smiling so bright

Everyone around me is secretly hurting

But that doesn’t soothe my own burning

CHORUS 2

If I don’t scream this at the top of my voice

Everyone will think that I still have a choice

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

BRIDGE

They call it whining and crying

I say they’re dining and lying

They call it wishful thinking

I say my damn ship is sinking

They tell me to just suck it up

I say it’s time for me to give up

They tell me happy days are ahead

I say I’m already lying in bed

VERSE 3

Dreams come true a million times a day

I couldn’t fight for my own anyway

If you believe, there’s nothing you can’t achieve

Whoever said that is out to deceive

CHORUS 3

If I don’t call bullshit on “fake it ‘til you make it”

I might as well take my own heart and break it

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

I’m so sad!

Quick Update for Reviews

Looking back at my most recent reviews, it appears as though I’ve been giving the Extra Credit grade far more often than I’d have you all believe. I keep bragging about how it’s a “rare grade” and I thought to myself…maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe I shouldn’t be so picky when it comes to grading things I love. From this day going forward, the terminology I use for each individual grade (Extra Credit, Pass, Mixed, Fail, and Zero Credit) will be replaced with letter grades instead (A, B, C, D, and F). The word “pass” doesn’t have the same definition for every reviewer. I used to use it to mean “you passed the class” whereas others use it to mean “I’m passing on your project”. Also, two stars doesn’t really come off as true failure. That’s all I have to say for now: five-star reviews will come more often and letter grades will replace outdated terminology.

Brainwashed By Television

Swordfights are fun! Fairytale romances are fun! Fairytale romances that happen as a result of swordfighting are fun! Buy this cheeseburger! Buy this appliance! What a splendid pie! Pizza pizza pie! Every minute, every second, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy! You feel hungry yet? If so, what are you hungrier for: a Disney princess or an extra large pepperoni pizza? Having a hard time deciding? Don’t worry, because the television will decide that for you. I can’t speak for the entire population, but I must confess that I’ve been brainwashed by television. It’s not just the juicy bacon double cheeseburgers on screen that capture my imagination. It’s not some random guy saying, “Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop ‘em in your mouth!” when referring to popcorn shrimp. It’s the ultra spicy women. It’s the romantic storylines those women are a part of that make me want it for myself.

The other day, my brother and I were driving home from Wendy’s (as a result of being brainwashed by their commercials). He mentions to me that he has a friend who doesn’t want to be in a relationship with women anymore because it keeps him from doing all the things he wants to do with his life. Disney movies like Aladdin and Snow White will show you the magical side of romance. They’ll show you the heartstrings being pulled, the stars in the lovers’ eyes, the irresistible physical beauty, and the all-important happily ever after. I explained to my brother that the reason I was interested having a relationship for myself is because I was brainwashed by television into believing that. One romantic relationship onscreen is questionable on its own. But when you get hit with that kind of message over and over again for a long period of time, you start to believe it. First it’s Aladdin and Jasmine bonding over their economic statuses. Then it’s Marty Deeks and Kensi Blye from NCIS: Los Angeles bonding over their traumas (because love totally cures everything, right?). I’m not ragging on people who genuinely enjoy romantic storylines. I’m just relating my experiences, that’s all.

You know what those Disney movies don’t tell you about relationships? They’re work. They’re a LOT of work. Basically, you’re responsible for another human being. If you have children together, you’ll be responsible for a LOT of human beings. You have to make compromises and sacrifices in order to keep your partner happy. Your partner has to do the same. Sometimes these sacrifices means scaling back on dreams you’ve previously had, whether it’s world travel, a music career, an acting career, or whatever. Some people can juggle a relationship with their ambitions. Some people can’t and they remain miserable. Where would I fall under those categories? That’s the thing: I wouldn’t know because I’ve only been in two relationships my whole life. One of them was an online romance and the other was casual dating. I’ve never felt like my freedom was limited or even tested in the slightest, but only because it hasn’t had that chance. It’s weird, because I turned down dates left and right in middle school because I thought my individuality was going to be threatened. Would it have been? I don’t know.

So where did we get this idea that romance is the be-all-end-all of life goals? Obviously, we’ve been pounded over the head with this idea from when we were small up until adulthood. But let’s examine this further, shall we? It’s what authors do best. Think about your favorite piece of media, whether it’s a movie, TV show, videogame, book, or otherwise. Ever notice that anytime an attractive woman is featured in those stories, most of the time she’s shoehorned into a relationship with a male character? Take Super Street Fighter II, for example. There are only two female characters in that whole game: a kung fu practitioner named Chun Li and a British Intelligence officer named Cammy White. Both characters are physically attractive and the programmers made extra sure to put them in revealing outfits, Chun Li in a bottomless Chinese dress and Cammy in a thong leotard. When Chun Li is the one who kills M. Bison (the main boss), she goes on to become a “single girl” (at least that’s one of her endings). When Cammy defeats Bison, he reveals to her that they “used to be in love”. The only male characters who are given the romantic treatment are Vega (who’s a narcissistic Spanish ninja) and Ken (a karate master who marries his fiancé Eliza). Vega and Ken aren’t nearly as sexualized as Cammy and Chun Li are, and the latter two are the only females in the game. Draw your own conclusions.

But it’s not just videogames. It’s any kind of media you can think of. The original Star Wars movies feature Princess Leia in a golden bikini. Also, she has a romantic storyline with Han Solo. Coincidence? Sure, why not? WWE is notorious for doing romantic storylines with their attractive female roster. As I’m writing this, there’s sexual tension between Buddy Murphy and Aalyah Mysterio (Rey’s daughter). Why did they decide this? Who knows? What about NCIS? Ziva David is an Israeli assassin who joins the team. She’s also an attractive female who’s got a slow burn going on with a male cohort, Tony DiNozzo. Why is this happening? Why is this spread across virtually all media? Why do some of these characters have to be shoehorned together? Sometimes the chemistry is there and it makes for a good storyline. But not all the time. Sometimes you’ve got Kickboxer: Vengeance. Sometimes you’ve got Fifty Shades of Grey. Sometimes you’ve got…(gulp)…365 Days, where the lead female is being held hostage by the lead male and is given that amount of time to fall in love with him. Romanticizing Stockholm Syndrome! Yum! Ugh…

I get that romance is a part of life. I get that it makes for good media. I get that people have ambitions to be a wife or a husband, a mother or a father. I’m not knocking anybody who believes in these dreams. To each their own. But for me personally, the reason I want a romance for myself is because I’ve been brainwashed by TV. If I think about it, there’s no reason why my personality will mesh well with a Cammy White or a Ziva David. There’s no reason why any You Tuber would want to travel X number of miles just to hook up with me. I say these things not to whine or complain. I say them because realistically, it’s true. Or to paraphrase a line from George Costanza, “Three hundred pound men with no job, no car, and who live with their parents don’t approach strange women.” I hate even saying that, because I can always point to characters like Otis from the WWE and Aladdin from the Disney movies as examples of men who break barriers to get the beautiful girl. It can happen. But not always. It’s not a surefire outcome. I’ve been beaten over the head with romance so many times in my life that I once believed that there’s someone for everyone. Who’s out there for me? Is she American? Is she Icelandic? Is she Russian? And if I do find this person, how long will she last with me before I annoy the piss out of her? There’s no such thing as job security when it comes to the role of a boyfriend or girlfriend.

But I can still dream. As a matter of fact, I do dream. All the time. I have a very active imagination whenever I’m given alone time. You know what I do with that imagination? I fantasize about resting my head on a woman’s lap while she plays with my hair and says sweet things to me. Who is this woman? It could be a You Tube crush. It could be a celebrity crush. It could be a musical crush. Why do I think about doing this with any of my crushes? Because they did it on an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View”, though that could hardly be called romantic. Lucy Butler, a demonic seductress, holds one of her captives’ head in her lap and she cuddles with him while giving him kisses and talking sweetly to him. That’s right. I based a romantic fantasy off of a television show about serial killers. If that’s not brainwashing my television, I don’t know what the fuck is. If you’ve seen that episode and are suffering from Stockholm Syndrome yourself, you know why.

I guess the moral of the story is to do your research on what you want before you commit to it. That can apply to romance, but it can also apply to other aspects in life whether it’s a travel destination, a job, a hobby, or a concert to name a few. Only you can decide what’s right and what’s wrong for yourself. Only you can make decisions with your life going forward. If you want a relationship, that’s great. If not, that’s great too. What do I want? I’ll figure it out as soon as I undo my brainwashing by television.

Burning Tongue

 Swordfight against my stomach acids

Hot sauce covering my shirt like a canvas

Hot pink cheeks and a burning tongue

Pyromantic death inside my lungs

Fifteen chicken wings to earn the respect

Of drunken strangers I’ve never even met

Of bartenders who bring a glass of milk

Of everyone else who wants vicarious thrills

My admirers know nothing about me

Except how much I’m willing to eat

If I told them about my inner struggles

Would they give me love or childish chuckles?

Beer at times makes monsters out of men

Drugs and paranoia put them on the defense

Makes them say things that shouldn’t be public

Racism, sexism, and homophobic fuckups

I leave the bar the same way I came in

Sober and depressed, not a shot of gin

Wouldn’t like the alcohol any damn ways

No sense in crashing and breaking my face

A bottle of Tums when I hit the sack

Not enough room for a midnight snack

Not enough memories to last forever

Except for ones that bring ocular weather

They say tomorrow is another day

Another chance to feel not so okay

Another chance to fuck it all away

Another swallow of pills to ease the pain

At least the wings were good, it’s all I can ask

They’ll feel like a flamethrower out of my ass

Ask me if I’d do it again in a heartbeat?

I’m already starving for some carved meat

Rinse and repeat, get the same results

Stomach ablaze, a heart stone cold

But I’ll never turn down a chance at food

Even with a fucked up brain, I’m in the mood

Even with a fucked up heart, I’ll chow down

Even with a Buddha belly bigger than a cow

Even with cholesterol plugging up my veins

Even with underwear covered in butt stains

Fifteen chicken wings? Give me fifteen more

I’ll keep breaking records for the top score

Earn cheers and high fives from the guys

As the hot sauce makes me sneeze and cry

The Scatomancer

The lighthouse bathroom was the only one available for miles at Cheney Park. Not a good night to have overstuffed intestines…and an even worse night to be trapped in the men’s room with Johnny Lockwood. The black hoodie-wearing youngster sat in the middle stall with his knees to his chest and amber-colored magic swirling in his hands. His wide grin counted as a bold attempt to stifle his laughter, a low bar to clear for a man with an immature mind. “This is going to be good…this is going to be so good…” A tiny chuckle escaped his throat, but he quickly suppressed it when he heard the steel door burst open and business loafers tapping across the tile floor.

Judging from what Johnny could see underneath his stall door, the thick legs filling out business slacks suggested that whoever burst into the bathroom had a lot of…ammunition to work with. He put his non-magic-wielding hand over his mouth to keep his giggles in check. The corpulent corporate rushed into the stall next to Johnny and pulled his pants around his ankles long before the door could lock. Johnny’s giggles were laced with spitting noises as he saw a yellow stain in the front of the man’s white briefs.

The scatomancer went to work right away, forming symbols and gestures with his hands to cast his first spell. On cue, the stranger’s bowl movements sounded like a bomb going off, the splatter of toilet water suggesting the same. The man’s moaning didn’t deter Johnny from casting another spell, this time shooting feces from his pudgy cheeks like a fire hose. The poor bastard’s grunts and groans sounded more like a dying opera singer performing his magnum opus. Johnny held his aching ribs while struggling to keep his laughs under control.

For his final trick, Johnny pointed his fingers upwards and trembled as the amber magic did its work. The man screamed and hollered as he tried to give birth to a rock-hard wrecking ball, causing little droplets of blood to tap the floor. “Get out of my ass!” he shouted, causing Johnny’s laughter to make him lose control of the spell. The intestinal boulder collapsed into the toilet and completely destroyed it, spreading muddy water all over the floor and moistening its sticky surface. The man wiped his ass with toilet paper, but not without crying out like a torture rack victim. He didn’t even stop to wash his hands. He got out of there as fast as his hulking body could take him.

Johnny howled and hooted with laughter as he exited his own stall, holding his spine the entire time. “Ouch! Ouch! Oh my god, that was gold! Holy shit!” Even after seeing his scatomancy teacher standing across the bathroom with his arms folded in disgust, the hee-haws never stopped. They slowed down, but without making a complete stop. “Owen, did you see that? I got him good! Come on, man, laugh!”

Owen Murphy, a dark-haired middle-aged gentleman with a cloak covering his body (but thankfully not touching the floor) spat back at his protégé. “Multiple generations of potent magic has all come to this, it seems. The lost art of scatomancy has been reduced to a goddamn JOKE!”

Johnny’s laughter abated and his smile sagged into disappointment. “Joke? You mean it wasn’t a joke before? I’m literally a shit wizard! Most wizards like to shoot lightning bolts and fireballs from their fingertips. I control shit!”

Owen slapped Johnny across the face and killed the last remnants of laughter remaining. “You do more than just control shit. You have the power of life and death in your hands. Your little middle school prank could have killed him! Losing that much weight within seconds could have dehydrated him to death!”

Johnny waved him off. “Don’t worry, Master Murphy, he’ll gain all the weight back after he stuffs down a couple more chocolate-covered pork roasts.”

“So not only is lethal diarrhea funny to you, but also obesity. You truly have the mind of a toddler, Johnny. If your father didn’t have so many goddamn connections, you would have been fucked off a long time ago!”

With wide eyes and a hunched spine, Johnny said, “Dude! I’m a shit wizard! You taught me how to manipulate shit! Those jokes pretty much write themselves! So an army of dragons comes breathing down our necks. So what are we supposed to do about it with all of this cosmic knowledge we have? Do we make the dragons shit themselves to death? Oh, that’ll go over like a fart in church! See what I did there?”

Owen death gripped Johnny’s shoulders and made him hiss in pain. The master’s face oozed with anger, seriousness, and a little bit of psychopathy. In a gravelly whisper that could force giants to quiver in fear, he said, “I don’t have time to re-teach you the applications of scatomancy. You’ve had years to process it in your head. It’s more than just shit magic, Johnny. It’s biology. It’s pathology. It’s a pathway to information we wouldn’t otherwise have. So excuse me if I don’t share your immature sense of humor over magic that shouldn’t be toyed with!” Owen gave an extra tight squeeze and Johnny yelped.

He swatted his master’s hands away. “Alright, jeez, you don’t have to bite my head off! I’m sorry, okay! I won’t do it again! Like you said, I’ve had years to process this.” Owen’s mask of rage softened. “But then again…Fudge Tunnel McGee had years to process his string cheese and hotdogs and look how that turned out. Phew! Smells like chemical warfare in here!” Owen face-palmed. “Hey, there’s another useful application for shit magic, I mean, scatomancy: chemical weaponry! More powerful than a nuclear bomb and more radiation cancer! Huh? Yeah!”

Still with his face in his hands, Owen said, “I have lost all respect for you, Johnny. You could have been the chosen one of our sacred order. You could have lived up to your potential as the greatest wizard of your generation. All that time teaching you…it went to waste.”

“You’re damn right it went to waste! It’s all over the goddamn floor!”

“Goodbye, Johnny. I never want to see you again. If your father gets nepotistic on me, I’ll be sure to tell him that you’re a bigger piece of shit than what came out of…no, I’m not giving you comic fodder. You don’t deserve to laugh. I’d tell you to give up magic and get a job making pizzas at a gas station, but…”

“But my hands are too dirty for the job?”

Owen sighed, tucked his chin in disillusionment, and trudged out of the bathroom, dragging his wizard’s slippers across the murky floor. Johnny shrugged his shoulders before Owen poked his head in again. “Oh, and by the way…that gentleman you just pranked? He’s on the Board of Magic Education. His name is Bill Grass. If you want to laugh about how his last name rhymes with a certain expletive, be sure to tell him that to his face.” Owen slammed the door behind him.

“What does he mean by that?”

Somebody behind Johnny cleared his throat and the magician got a lump in his as he slowly turned around to face him. There he was: Chairman Bill Grass, complete with hands on his wide hips and a gorgon death stare on his bearded face. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the mood for comedy.

“Hey, Chairman…” Johnny looked down as he twiddled his fingers and thumbs. “How’s it going?” Bill tapped his foot with impatience. “Eh, I already know how it’s going, if you know what I mean.” Johnny placed his hands over his own mouth, as if trying to put the joke back where he got it from.

“You like jokes, Mr. Lockwood? You like making people laugh? Here, let me help you out with that.” Bill scooped Johnny off the ground, the young wizard begging and pleading to be put down. And so Bill did as he body slammed his attacker onto the scatomantic sludge. Johnny’s back and ribs pulsated with pain as he struggled to take even the simplest of breaths. He wouldn’t have wanted those breaths anyways since they all tasted and smelled like an intestinal plutonium rod.

“Go ahead, Johnny. Get up! Leave the bathroom! I dare you! You’ve got an entire student body gathered outside. You want people to not be so sensitive and have a sense of humor? Well, they’ll be laughing at you for years to come, my friend. Enjoy the attention! You’ll never shake it off again. Oops! I said shake it off in a men’s bathroom. Silly me!” Bill horse-laughed as he exited the bathroom, leaving Johnny in a painful heap on the ground.

Johnny had the choice to punch up with his sense of humor rather than punch down. He could have made something of himself. After that body slam by Chairman Grass, he’ll be the stuff of legend for as long as he lives, but not in the way that Owen Murphy had envisioned for him. Johnny rolled over onto his knees and pounded the ground in frustration, shouting a few curses for good measure. The splash of the toilet water got into his mouth and he immediately puked his guts out all over the floor, becoming an even bigger legend in the process. The best he could have done was laugh with his contemporaries, but his ribs and spine were too sore for that. In a way, his bones were one in the same with his spirit: broken down and never to be fixed again. The only question of the evening was…who’s laughing now?

Andre the Giant

 MOVIE TITLE: Andre the Giant
PRODUCER: HBO
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Wrestling Documentary
RATING: TV-14 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit

Seven feet and four inches tall, well over four hundred pounds, undefeated for fifteen years in professional wrestling, first ever WWE Hall of Famer, and above all else, a literal larger than life character. When the name Andre the Giant is mentioned, these are the descriptors that come with it and it was a solidly earned reputation. Wrestling fans wanted to see a godlike attraction, so they dished out large sums of money to see him destroy his opponents like they were nothing. The wrestling business wouldn’t have boomed in popularity if not for Andre’s mystique and extraordinary presence. Watching this HBO documentary on him made me believe in the legend all over again. It made me nostalgic for the “good old days”, at the risk of sounding like an old codger. I gave up watching pro-wrestling in 2018 due to how bad the WWE product had become. Seeing Andre in action being a dominant beast and making fans go absolutely bananas rekindled a tiny spark within me. It made me believe in the “never say never” idiom. Andre died in 1993, but his memory lives forever. This documentary was the perfect way to keep him immortal in the eyes of wrestling fans both old and new. It’s certainly more respectful than a yearly WWE battle royal where the winner achieves minimal success shortly thereafter.

One thing you can’t say about Andre the Giant was that he was a Gary-Stu, or a character so flawless that they become unrelatable. On the contrary, he was incredibly flawed. People think that being a gigantic tough guy is the ultimate ticket to being taken seriously and not being messed with. Fans messed with him a lot. They pointed and laughed at him. They said horrible things about his appearance, like a high school bully would do relentlessly in order to get his target to commit suicide. You would think that macho pro-wrestlers didn’t have sensitive sides, but Andre cried every time he was picked on by snickering fans. On top of all that, being that big comes with physical hardships as well, whether it was his failing organs, crooked spine, bad hips, or arthritic knees. Peers would often joke about Andre’s drinking habits and how he could go through a hundred cans of beer in a single sitting. He drank because he was depressed and couldn’t cope with the physical and emotional toll constant travel took on him. He couldn’t even sit in a normal sized car seat or rest in a normal sized bed. He also couldn’t be there for his daughter Robin when she needed him the most. Seeing this very human side to a deified wrestler reminds us over and over again not to judge a book by its cover and not to wish we could swap lives with other people. Everyone has their own set of hardships and everyone deals with them in their own way. It certainly makes his death that much more difficult to hear about from the perspectives of his colleagues, who also cried, by the way. The gentle giant deserved better than a slow and painful death. It makes me wonder if a Hall of Fame induction and a namesake battle royal are really enough to do him justice.

You know what does do him justice? His main event match at Wrestlemania III against Hulk Hogan for the WWF Championship. This wasn’t just two big guys having a hoss fight. There was a story behind this. This was Andre being taken seriously as a villainous character when he had spent most of his career being a gentle soul. This was Andre posing a credible threat to WWF’s golden goose. This was Andre severing a brotherly bond he had with Hulk Hogan just for a shot at a money-making championship. Hulk Hogan fought through his own tears and gave a resounding “Yes!” in the most emotional delivery possible when the challenge was laid down. The match itself wasn’t a technical masterpiece, but the documentary did a tremendous job in showing the psychology behind it, both backstage and in the ring. Could Hulk Hogan slay the giant and become a megastar that could carry the company through its darkest times? When he finally did with a body slam and leg drop, the audience cheered their heads off. I wanted to cheer my head off too. I wanted to be there in the building to see it happen, but I didn’t live in Detroit at the time. The energy, the emotional investment, the storytelling, they created a perfect storm when Andre’s defeat burst Hulk Hogan into the stratosphere. Again, this was oftentimes a slow and plodding match due to Andre’s mobility issues, but the magic was still there. The magic will always be there thanks to HBO keeping the memory alive.

I don’t give five-star ratings out so lightly, but for this documentary, I’ll gladly fork it over. One way to earn the maximum rating from me is to evoke emotions that I don’t ordinarily feel from movies and TV shows that I just like. HBO’s documentary did just that. It made me fall in love with wrestling again (even if I refuse to watch the current WWE product). It hurt to see Andre in so much agony, be it emotional or physical. It lifted me up whenever his peers would talk about his sense of humor and his kind demeanor outside of the ring. Was he a god on a worldwide level or was he a human being who longed for an normal life from time to time? The correct answer is yes. Rest in peace, Andre the Giant. It’s been many moons since your passing and we still miss you to this day. That’s the mark of a true legend: when you transcend your own death.

Parasocial

VERSE 1
The beacon of light I’ve been waiting for
A platonic friendship or something more?
One-sided romance from across the screen
Like I don’t know what parasocial means
We never talk, but I can still have dreams
About making this more than it seems
The real world doesn’t even compare
The real world doesn’t fucking care

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 2
I don’t have a knife or pepper spray
Yet you back the fuck up anyway
I would too, so I can’t blame you
Don’t know if I have a loose screw
Don’t know if I’m a creepy terrorist
No confidence and less arrogance
Where else am I supposed to go?
Got nothing here but wires and crows

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 3
I hate riding in cars in long traffic lines
I hate flying on planes for a long ass time
I hate riding on buses with dog logos
I hate riding on trains, it’s never solo
I don’t have the patience to see this through
Yet I yearn to be even closer to you
Back to the keyboard for another comment
In hopes we still have friendship in common

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

FINAL VERSE
Growing older
Growing colder
You’ve moved on
Still I wait so long