Two-Sentence Horror Story: A Stone's Throw Away

After an hour of standing in front of the toilet, Frank passed the world’s bloodiest and most painful kidney stone in existence. It could one day be used as the business end of a morning star.

Head of Cauliflower

A mysterious package, ain’t no head of cabbage

It’s a head of cauliflower with its own brain power

Why the hell not? It’s got a bumpy texture

The kind of head you’d see in a medical lecture

What kind of thoughts are sweeping across?

A silver screen show of the decapitating blow

And now this head is in my shopping cart

In this cinematic trauma, I’m still taking part

Soon this head will be boiled in a pot

Covered with cheese sauce, a whole damn lot

Dandruff flakes and a cerebral cortex

They’re pieces of fiber in my colonic vortex

All that potential for academic genius

Shat away like the flood of melty cheeses

Every head in that grocery superstore

Was capable of brilliance and so much more

Now they’re swimming in stomachs full of gas

Destined for a water slide ride out of the ass

Am I the crazy one for having these thoughts?

Maybe my head is produce one day to be bought

Feels weird carrying severed heads around

But who cares when fiber is good for shedding pounds?

They came from the garden, not the cemetery

But what’s the difference when shit gets buried?

Seeds and corpses grow the finest veggies

Why find the meaning when I can just be edgy?

I’m the only one who can find the connection

These bowel-shaking thoughts are my own invention

Wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t resonate

I’m the only one who gets my own jokes as of late

Necro Power Plant

Ever wonder how those malls play holiday music?

Keep your internet connection and never lose it?

Keep the lights on in your depressing man cave?

Keep the water warm so you can shower and shave?

 

You can give your thanks to the utility wizards

Necromancy keeps you warm during blizzards

Now that your eyes popped out of your sockets

We run on dead bodies, it’s how we line our pockets

 

Feed the giant slab of rotten gray beef jerky

Through the dynamo of swamp water so murky

Boil them corpses like a pot of spaghetti

Let the green steam get the juicy juices ready

 

What’s the matter, kid? You think this is wrong?

Grab the hippie-dippie guitar, write a protest song

It’s not like we killed the dead bodies ourselves

Who cares when their souls are stuck in hell?

 

Exploiting dead people is a great business model

When politicians do it, the press is sucking milk bottles

When Vince McMahon does it, it’s a sure ratings draw

Whether the corpse has hands or puppy-duppy paws

 

It’s all in bad taste, but it ain’t nuclear waste

We’ve got no souls, but at least it ain’t coal

Call us super villains, we don’t give a goddamn

They’re your lights, bro, you’ve got the wrong man

 

What do you mean we’ve failed the safety inspections?

What do you mean the civil court is now in session?

What do you mean we’ve got to pay a billion dollars?

What do you mean we’ve got debt collecting callers?

What do you mean we’re going right out of business?

What do you mean the plaintiffs got their own star witness?

What do you mean we got to put on these orange onesies?

What do you mean our cellmates are extra snuggly?

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 3

Even though Lucy’s metal armor provided most of her warmth, the chilly air of the mountainside nipped at her skin like a predatory case of fleas, each with meat grinder teeth. She hugged herself for extra heat, but the incoming snowflakes made her shiver nonetheless. In such a short amount of time, one snowflake on her canine nose turned into an entire winter of defeat and agony. Without her war hammer and tennis ball, she might as well have been the most naked being in the entirety of Rainbow Ranch. How was she supposed to fight Loki the Skull now? Barking and clawing could only do so much against a sorcerer who flashed in and out of combat as he pleased. Lucy became jealous of Callie the Wildfire for having any kind of weapon at all, the golden knife in question.

 

“Get a move on, Lucy! Ozzie is vulnerable out here!” roared Callie. Toughness would have been an admirable trait during these times, but all it did was make Lucy’s eyes water, which in turn hardened into icicles that shattered on the ground. It was completely normal coming from Razor Ripley, but Callie was a stranger who appeared unsympathetic to Lucy’s struggles. Then again, Callie had little to worry about wrapped up in the warmest orange fabric. Why burden herself with an annoying Chiweenie’s suffering?

 

The mountainside trek weakened Lucy’s legs to where they were trembling with or without a freezing temperature. She was used to scampering up to any challenge, but such athletics were punished with a painful gut and sour breathing. There were many times when Lucy wanted to just plop over and allow whatever was going to happen to happen. No weapon, no bravery, and no help beyond someone who couldn’t stand her to begin with. This was a losing battle against an opponent with seemingly endless magical energy. Lucy’s head swirled with dizziness and hopelessness. Why not just lay down and prove her abandoners right?

 

“We’re here! And no sign of Loki!” Callie’s grumpy demeanor was masked with a tiny smile, but only for a little while. “Come on, Lucy, let’s move it!” She grabbed the Chiweenie’s trembling paw and dragged her up the mountain, where a comforting orange light shone from a lone cave entrance, flanked by two scarecrows with rotten pumpkin heads. “His place must be a pigsty. I knew he was out of his gourd.”

 

Lucy and Callie scampered past the scarecrows and into the brightly lit cave. Sure enough, this was the home of Ozzie the Wise, whose days of wisdom and intense thought had long abandoned him. Sitting at the table next to a glowing metal stove (the source of the gentle light), the elderly gray and white cat man tenderly ate cold turkey scraps from a plate that had seen better days. Nibble, nibble, nibble, gulp, gulp, gulp, all with teeth that smelled worse than the pumpkins outside.

 

The messiness of this home could give his dental work a run for its money. Torn blankets strewn every which way. A record player that hadn’t been dusted since the days of his youth. A sink full of dirty dishes that would have attracted flies if not for the freezing weather. A bookcase of cracked yellow paper, probably with spells written on them that couldn’t be studied with a forgetful brain. There was even a golden framed picture of Callie and Ozzie as a couple hanging on the wall, albeit at an awkward angle.

 

Ozzie peeked up from his dubious dinner and smiled at Lucy and Callie. “You look familiar.”

 

“Gee, I wonder why that could be,” said Callie with a sharp tongue. “See that picture on the wall? Any clues coming yet?”

 

“Yes…yes…it’s all coming back to me now…” Ozzie stood up and cracked his spine over the back of his chair, causing Lucy to twitch in disgust and Callie to reprimand her for it. The old man cat trudged over to his two guests with Callie looking hopeful that she might be recognized after all of these years. But instead, Ozzie ruffled Lucy’s ears and said, “My granddaughter! My precious little granddaughter.” Lucy looked confused at first, but then chuckled as Ozzie groomed her face over and over again.

 

“For Pete’s sake, Ozzie, it’s me! Callie! Your ex-wife!” protested Callie. Ozzie continued licking Lucy’s cackling face while running his claws through her fur. The tough facade had melted away when Callie sighed and tucked her head in defeat. “He’s forgotten me…Ozzie has forgotten me…”

 

“Oh no, I haven’t,” said Ozzie. “My other granddaughter! You’ve come to visit me after all these years! Come here, you!” He gave Callie tummy scratches, which earned him a swat for his troubles.

 

“I’m not your granddaughter, you old coot! I’m your wife! We shared a house together! We chased balls of yarn together! You used to cook tuna fish every night and it was delicious! Don’t you remember?” Callie’s elderly anger turned to sorrowful word salad as her voice became increasingly jittery.

 

Ozzie placed a tender paw on Callie’s shivering shoulder and said, “Now, now, now…you know I can’t marry my granddaughter. But I’ll be there at your wedding when you’re old enough.”

 

Callie held her face in her paw and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “There’s no hope. He’s gone. He’s all gone.”

 

Now that she’d established some rapport with Ozzie, Lucy suddenly found her confidence again, which was definitely helped by the warm breeze blowing on her from the metal stove. “Mr. Ozzie, I’d love to stay and eat turkey with you, but there’s something we have to warn you about. There’s an evil sorcerer coming up this mountain and he says he wants to hurt you. He’s too powerful for any of us to fight off. The best thing we can do is get you out of here and to a safe place.”

 

“A sorcerer, you say?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Ozzie. He’s someone you used to know, I mean, once knew…” Lucy let out a phew at almost appearing insensitive towards Ozzie’s forgetfulness. “He’s an old rival of yours. You were the one who defeated him in the first place. Now he wants revenge. He’s come back to life in a dog’s body and he wants to…”

 

“Old rival? Hmm…” Ozzie scratched his own chin looking for answers. “Is he another one of my grandchildren? I’d love to play some fetch with him and tell him all about my record collection. These young whippersnappers could use some good music these days.”

 

“He’s gone, Lucy,” said Callie in an uncharacteristically low voice. “He doesn’t remember me or anyone else. All that magic use turned his brain into mush. He’d be better off in retirement care instead of this disheveled cave.”

 

“Wait a minute…” pondered Lucy. “If magic use can turn your brain into mush, then Loki the Skull…”

 

“You just now figured that out?” The fire and spunk was back in Callie’s voice, her knife raised in the air, much to Lucy’s cowering terror.

 

“Put the knife away, you old bat. I’ll finish the job for you.”

 

Lucy, Callie, and Ozzie’s eyes widened at the demonic voice haunting the once warm and cozy cave. The stove’s glow was slowly dying down and the only neon flash that appeared this time came from Loki the Skull’s eyes. Bright red horror enveloped the room, followed by the poisonous green of the sorcerer’s aura. Lucy gulped as hard as she could while hugging Callie for comfort. She tried to push her off, but Lucy was too strong and it was the only strength she would exhibit for a while.

 

But then, Loki waved the war hammer like a pendulum and taunted Lucy. “Looking for this? It’s the perfect tool for smashing, let’s say…tennis balls!” He then pulled out said tennis ball, this time deflated and dirty, no longer fit for an hour of friendly roughhousing.

 

“What are you going to do, Lucy? Are you going to snuggle up and cry like a little cherub? Are you going to howl to the night moon like a lost wolf puppy? Are you going to run back into your mommy’s arms? Oh wait…that last part isn’t an option anymore.” Loki laughed at his own callous joke.

A Little Bit

VERSE 1

A little bit annoying, a little bit weird

A little bit chunky, a little bit feared

A little introspective, a little out in space

A little bit friendly, yet you spit in my face

 

VERSE 2

A little bit tired, a little bit lazy

A little bit foggy, a little bit hazy

A little bit angry, a little bit sad

A little bit depressed, lock me up with the mad

 

BRIDGE

You took an innocent little boy who did no wrong

Called him every name in the book so he could be strong

But that shit doesn’t work, you disgusting jerk

The gentle young man now goes berserk

 

VERSE 3

A little unpacking, a little therapy

A little dark magic, a little heresy

A little bit of fun, a little bit of joy

Welcome demon man, goodbye little boy

A little black humor, a little bit of spice

A little bit of fire, a little bit of ice

A little bit hard rock, a little heavy metal

A little bit numbed out, no choice but to settle

 

FINAL LINES

Goodbye baby boy

Goodbye rattle toy

Hello burned out man

Break the cycle if you can

Put it off ‘til tomorrow

One more day of sorrow

Put it off another week

Keep the future bleak

A Love Letter to Advil

As a loud and proud member of Generation Y

I’ve got pain in my back and tears in my eyes

There’s a war going on in the base of my spine

Flamethrower marines screaming, “Your ass is mine!”

Battle axe barbarians chopping down the tree

Razor claw demons going on a killing spree

Can’t wait for the bone-cracker to fix me up

I need instant healing before I fucking erupt

They call it Advil, I call it magic in tablets

For when I can’t move without yelling, “Damn it!”

A bottle of water cold enough to freeze hell

Swallow the pills and the pain takes the L

Why go cold turkey when it feels so good?

It’s not like I’m floating through the neighborhood

It’s not like I’m a space cadet calling Major Tom

Or drunkenly fucking on Porn Hub dot com

Doesn’t have the same energy as cooking crack

Booger sugar wouldn’t do shit for my back

Don’t have a meth lab on the bottom floor

Not making poison pills out of a nuclear core

The magic medicine works, I’m off to bed

Maybe one day it’ll unfuck my head

I wrote a love letter to Advil liquid gels

More like a commercial with intent to sell

A drug deal without the DEA

Just a fucking parade from the FDA

Lacy Yang Strikes Again

ACT I

She stands like a halfling, walks like a giant

Forget the kid shit, ‘cause she’s self-reliant

Learned capoeira from the masters of old

Spin-kicking heads until bodies turn cold

Practice on scarecrows, theory on the dance floor

Helicopter kicks and through the air she soars

But no matter how many bones she breaks

There’s always some jerk-ass who calls her a fake

ACT II

Her name is Lacy Yang, but they call her baby girl

And a bunch of other sweet names to make her hurl

She ain’t tall enough to ride the rollercoaster

They say she’s just small enough to fit inside a toaster

As she sipped her hot tea at the capoeira café

She tried to push these thoughts so far away

Until a forty-something with white in his hair

Drunkenly tried to get inside her underwear

ACT III

He’s got Reese’s Pieces and Peanut Butter Cups

A van full of toys and a ranch full of puppy-dups

Lacy Yang told this pervert to fuck off

Two middle fingers for the incel suck-wad

A slap across her face, a prelude to a spanking

Easily forgetting her martial arts ranking

She tied up her dreadlocks in a giant knot

“Come on, you pedo, show me what you’ve got!”

ACT IV

Cartwheeled out of the way of a punch

Flipped off the table, landed with a feather’s touch

He went for a kick, didn’t protect his dick

Lacy threw a crescent heel, sent him spinning like a wheel

Some kangaroo stomps for his bits and pieces

Dragon uppercut to unleash his loose feces

Head butt to the jaw for breaking molestation laws

Knocked the fuck out, the winner wasn’t in doubt

CONCLUSION

David and Goliath is one hell of a legend

Lacy Yang’s story is worth more than a mention

Let this be a lesson to the wicked and dangerous

May you get your ass kicked from Earth to Uranus

Monster at Your Door

VERSE 1

There’s a monster at your door, though she looks like an angel

Taking pictures of your house from more than one angle

She won’t be the only one who shows up this evening

They got shotguns for popping, baseball bats for beating

You reach for the gun locked inside your steel cabinet

You got a machete to turn their clothes into cabbage

You got a one-way ticket in case you need to dip

But for now, no movement, just zip your fucking lip

VERSE 2

You can cross the country and then cross the ocean

But the monster’s fanatics are known for their devotion

If she gives marching orders, they’ll march your ass down

If you’re in the biggest city or the tiniest of towns

It takes a marathon sprint to get the fuck away

Until your legs crumble like they’re paper mâché

Until your heart beats at a million per minute

Until your sanity is pushed beyond explosive limits

VERSE 3

Nobody in their right mind will think this is fair

If they do, they got no brain under their hair

Monsters have short fuses over absolutely nothing

The tiniest infraction is worth a lifetime of cussing

Throwing a fit and making big ass scenes

They got fuck-you money and the praise of the machine

But if the history of tyrants is anything to go by

Their empires will crumble as they crocodile cry

Clown Grinder

Does this cheeseburger taste funny to you?

It’s ground-up clowns, the whole circus crew

There aren’t enough bottles of Pepto Bismol

To wash down the taste of Bozo’s big balls

There’s a blood-soaked war in your intestines

Bacteria and viruses with automatic weapons

Vomit your carcass inside the fuck out

Or they can exit through the Hershey Highway route

Hellfire fever immolating your soul

Acid trip dreams about your blistered asshole

Stay away from your bottle of Advil

Lest you want to drop a load heavier than an anvil

Get on the phone with the CDC

Clowns’ Decaying Corpses, eat lean beef

I hope someone sends you a Get Well card

“May your anal casualties again become hard”

Who’s in charge of the menu today?

They’ve got a billion in lawsuits to finally pay

Now you’ve got your check, so what’s for dinner?

The mind is strong, but food addiction is the winner

Get the clown grinder ready for another serving

Diarrhea Armageddon is never too unnerving

A weight loss strategy for the new age

In history books, you’re thin enough to be a page

A Chosen Destiny by Drew McIntyre

BOOK TITLE: A Chosen Destiny

AUTHOR: Drew McIntyre (ghostwritten by Sarah Edworthy)

YEAR: 2021

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: B

If you’ve watched WWE from the late 2000’s to the 2020’s, you’ve seen the Scottish Psychopath Drew McIntyre on your screen, whether he was an arrogant heel, a brawling monster, or the WWE Champion during the pandemic era. If you want to hear his turbulent story about how he got to that pinnacle and all the obstacles between him and glory, you’ve cracked open the right book. I need to warn you, though, that this book reads like a lot of pro-wrestlers’ memoirs: a childhood dream turned reality with an overabundance of show-don’t-tell violations. Emotional moments that deserved time to breathe barely get a few sentences to describe how Drew was feeling in that moment, which is a shame considering some of the trauma he went through. “I was angry.” “I was sad.” “I wanted to wreck everything.” Not all of the writing is like this, but most of it is. That’s to be expected from celebrity memoirs. If that kind of milk-toast style bothers you or you’re not already part of the wrestling bubble, you may want to keep this book shelved. Otherwise, enjoy the ride!

If you can excuse the bland writing style, then you might be moved by some of these legitimately heartbreaking stories he tells. Winning the WWE Championship in an empty warehouse with no fans to cheer him on is the ultimate bittersweet moment in his career. It’s not nearly as soul-crushing as losing his physically disabled, yet highly optimistic mother to cancer in the middle of his WWE career. Or how about the time when he kept showing up to work plastered because alcohol was the only thing that brought him peace? What about the time when he was fired from WWE along with nine other wrestlers like he was an expendable foot soldier? These are all moments that would destroy any reader if they were explored in depth and with a more descriptive ghostwriter. They still tug at the heartstrings. They still hit me where it hurts. But like I said in the first paragraph, these legitimately painful moments needed time to breathe and develop. Just like Drew was robbed of his Wrestlemania crowd pop, we were robbed of a face full of tears. How’s that for irony?

I wrestled with myself (no pun intended) when trying to decide between a B or a C grade for this memoir. Ultimately, I settled on a B, because Drew McIntyre has an interesting enough life to justify penning a memoir. The way he talks about his obsession with wrestling as a kid and how he brought that fandom into his everyday life? That’s the stuff dreams are made of. Completely transforming his diet and lifestyle after getting fired by WWE? That and touring relentlessly on the indie circuit was exactly what he needed to get back into the company. Getting cheered on by his family in Scotland and his wife in America? That’s what kept him going every night. And then he eventually won the WWE Championship, but that, according to him, was only the beginning of much bigger plans. His newfound work ethic was an admirable thing to see in his process of maturity. But again, it would have meant more with better writing.

A Chosen Destiny is an interesting read, but only if you already follow wrestling. Maybe that was the whole point behind the marketing techniques. Maybe it doesn’t have to be massively appealing to be successful. Should I be more forgiving of books that have a super-niche audience? I’d like to think that’s a good idea. Maybe that’s why I’m being generous with my B grade instead of dropping it to a C. It is a good book for what it is, but I would only recommend it to other wrestling fans. In that respect, the memoir did its job. Drew McIntyre, on the other hand, will hopefully never have to do a long string of jobs ever again. Wrestling fans know what that means.

The Happy Park

ACT I

Welcome to The Happy Park

Frisbees thrown, puppies bark

Novels read underneath the trees

Relaxing in the warmest breeze

Children play on slides and swings

Monkey bars and trampolines

Even when the sun has set

The dark day isn’t over yet

ACT II

Wonder why the grass is colorful?

Elves are buried in shallow holes

Why’s there dragon fruit on trees?

A faerie army fell to their knees

Why are the swing sets so sturdy?

Dwarven bones thick and dirty

No Happy Park without sacrifice

Your favorite creatures cold as ice

ACT III

You don’t have to ask questions

As rainbow bubbles grab attentions

Live, laugh, play every day

Nothing wrong with our brutal ways

Your parents pay their tax dollars

So colorful critters will die and holler

Don’t mind the rumbling in your guts

Work a little harder if you’ve got the nuts

CONCLUSION

If you don’t appreciate genocide

We can always take a bulldozer for a ride

Be grateful for the shallow beauty

Picketing is for the fruity

We got the magic wands and staffs

Sorcerers and their belly laughs

Eight foot tall barbarians

Back up your youthful arrogance

Have a nice day! Come back tomorrow

Take the edge off your so-called sorrows

Play in the park and be grateful

Who cares if its history is bleak and hateful?

The Schizophrenic's Creed

I am a schizophrenic

I didn’t ask to be one

I didn’t choose this life for myself

This life chose me

There are others like me who suffer as I do

But I am more than a statistic

I am a dreamer

I am a survivor

I am a warrior fighting against my past

My traumas are not my fault

I deserve better treatment from the world

Despite knowing this, my schizophrenia is still a part of me

It cannot be gaslit away

It cannot be prayed away

It is a disease just like any other

It’s no different from a fever

It’s a psychological cancer

The reason it exists is to destroy me from within

It has no other purpose

It is a curse I carry until the day I die

Hopefully, that day will come slowly

I have so much to do in this world despite my mind ghosts

I have people to love

I have art to create and consume

I have minds to change and hearts to care for

I do not know this yet and I may never know until it’s too late

But this world is a colder place without me and people like me

The world doesn’t love me, but I love the world

I’ll stay for as long as I can, even when my voices tell me lies

Amen!

Bad Comedy

(In the style of “Bad Company” by Bad Company)

VERSE 1

Comedy is supposed to be about fun

I’d rather off myself with a loaded gun

You were born with sense of humor cancer

The crowd is dead, army of a necromancer

CHORUS 1

That’s why they call you

Bad comedy, not a laugh or a cry

Bad, bad comedy, your edge is all a lie

Your edge is all a lie

Your edge is all a lie

VERSE 2

Oh so brave, a rebel you’ve been called

Truth teller? I’ve never been so appalled

And now these crowds, they boo you off the stage

Your lame-ass jokes, they will poorly age

CHORUS 2

That’s why they call you

Bad comedy, you got too many tries

Bad, bad comedy, no pay-per-view buys

No pay-per-view buys

No pay-per-view buys

BRIDGE

Laugh at the vulnerable

Laugh at the “truth”

You’re wasting your time

We’re wasting our youth

CHORUS 3

That’s why they call you

Bad comedy, go ahead and deny

Bad, bad comedy, shut up and make my fries

Shut up and make my fries

Until the day you die

Fighting with My Friends

VERSE 1

I got vaccinated, I got educated

I thought that’d be the end, but now I’m fighting with my friends

Every autumn moon to a boiling hot June

I’ve got to defend from my own friends

They call it a debate, I call it pure hate

A never-ending trend is that I’m fighting with my friends

Fight for no reason but familial treason

Let’s not pretend we’re not fighting with our friends

VERSE 2

I take a battle axe to your alternative facts

Hit me ‘til I’m dead, so much for being friends

Blame me for the end, no fences to mend

Covered in blood for fighting with my friends

It’s no use to pretend it’s not abuse

Beat me ‘til I bend, because I’m fighting with my friends

Use your country’s flag as a Molotov rag

Burn the bridges red, can’t go back to being friends

BRIDGE

Dust to dust, ash to ash

In myself I trust, all others pay cash

Sounds like a joke to the outer circle

Laugh that shit up while you burp and gurgle

You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through

Keep on laughing until your face is navy blue

Fighting with the enemy is one little thing

It’s ten times worse when you’re under someone’s wing

FINAL LINES

Fighting with my friends!

Fighting with my allies!

Fighting the whole world!

Everyone’s a bad guy!

I Deserve to Be Alive

I might be problematic

But that’s always automatic

I’ll never take a dive

I deserve to be alive

I’ve got a checkered past

The damage done will last

Guilt’s beyond a nine to five

I deserve to be alive

I’m spinning my wheels

Made no business deals

Got no capitalist drive

I deserve to be alive

My future is uncertain

And it’s my anxious burden

Got no kids or wives

I deserve to be alive

I’ve broken every cycle

Without praying to St. Michael

Put down the pocket knives

You deserve to be alive

You deserve to have some fun

You deserve to be the one

Who keeps spreading the love

They’ll never get enough

The past is gone forever

Prepare for sunny weather

We’re a family, not a hive

We deserve to be alive

We deserve to be alive

We deserve to be alive

We deserve nothing less

Than life’s very best

Two-Sentence Horror Story: Pacific Blue Balls

Detective Miller placed a comforting hand on top of Francine’s and said, “I’m going to need the links to your revenge porn pictures so that we can gather evidence and put this creep behind bars. Also, I watch Pacific Blue for the riveting drama and I read Playboy for the articles.”

Army of Love

VERSE 1

There are so many people who want me to bleed

Because a victim who freezes is what they need

I don’t carry a gun and I’m not a blackbelt

I’m just a geeky motherfucker with a bad hand dealt

These cyclone thoughts turned me into a night owl

Wipe away my tears with a dirty hand towel

Is there anybody out there who wants to talk?

To listen and feel, not to judge and mock?

PRE-CHORUS 1

If I can’t build an army of forever soldiers

Then I’ll build one of lovers who never grow colder

CHORUS 1

Army of love, army of love

Pretty little angels from earth and above

Army of love, army of love

Everybody’s welcome, no need to push and shove

VERSE 2

One act of kindness can alleviate shyness

Buy you a coffee, tip the clerk the highest

Give you a hug that’s warmer than sunlight

Shield you from bullets in an endless gunfight

Make your puffy red eyes beautiful and bright

Want another hug? I’ll make this one extra tight

And that’s how I recruit for my army of love

Now spread it around until we’re one choir sound

PRE-CHORUS 2

I don’t need to build an army of machinegun shooters

Or a secret cabal of money-hungry corporate suiters

CHORUS 2

Army of love, army of love

When you feel like you can’t do nearly enough

Army of love, army of love

A bond like this is unbreakably tough

BRIDGE

They might overwhelm us most of the time

But we’re not in the grave, out of hell we’ll climb

Taking care of each other shouldn’t be a crime

It shouldn’t cost millions or even a dime

CHORUS 3

Army of love, army of love

It’s not a war or even competition

Army of love, army of love

Keep each other alive, it’s our only mission

Army of love, army of love

You don’t have to be the center of the universe

Army of love, army of love

Know that you’re cared for, valid, and so much more

Two-Sentence Horror Stories: Double Tap

FIRST STORY: The movie theater was packed with excited kids who couldn’t sit still for the start of the film. But instead of the Warner Brothers Family Entertainment shield flying through the clouds, it was a diseased penis covered in green slime and red sores that oozed yellow pus.

 

SECOND STORY: Helena screamed through her breathing apparatus as the great white shark swam towards her looking for lunch. She really started kicking her flippers when she saw that the shark was wearing a dental dam over his mouth.

Trees and Rocks

(In the style of Wesley Willis)

VERSE 1

Nature vacations are the worst

It’s just trees and rocks

They sit there and do nothing

You can’t buy chicken from a tree

CHORUS

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

VERSE 2

Where are all the heavy metal bands?

Where are the wrestling matches?

Where are the arcade machines?

You can’t play Double Dragon in a creek

CHORUS

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

VERSE 3

There are no animals in the forest

Except the ones that can kill you

Grizzlies will eat you alive

You can’t talk about barbarians and wizards with a bear

CHORUS

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

Nature is so boring

FINAL VERSE

If trees had wi-fi signals

I’d go there in a heartbeat

And order fried chicken from Door Dash

Prison or Death

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

VERSE 1

Hurricane is coming, a storm from within

Beat their ass raw, corpse in the bin

Whether it’s over a one-word insult

Or god’s favorite weapon: a lightning bolt

Revenge is a dish best served bloody rare

Don’t try to live well, just go on a tear

Murder feels good in the heat of the moment

But not in a cell where you’re lonely and hopeless

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

VERSE 2

Froze like a blizzard, the sinners go free

But war flashbacks are all that you see

Four letter words to go with the punches

A mile-high bill to go with the crutches

Raging rapids of red puffy tears

To take away all of your natural years

If you could do things a different way

Would you need a machete to make them pay?

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

BRIDGE

If passive silence is complicity

Mass homicide is more sickening

Always afraid of making things worse?

Welcome to hell, enjoy your curse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

Flight or fight, does might equal right?

In the ICU, who spends the night?

You just can’t win even if you survive

You just can’t live even if you’re alive

25 Things That Got Me Through 2023

Well…2023 isn’t over yet, but this is a list of 25 things that either got me through it or will get me through it (hence the list items marked “future”). This was inspired by Innuendo Studios’ 2020 list back in…well…2020. Ever since it’s become a yearly tradition for me. Are you ready? Here we go. And whatever you do…don’t yuck my yum!

1. Babymetal X Dethklok concert with Jason Richardson opening for them (future)

2. Callum Markie (not to be confused with calamari)

3. Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul

4. Conure

5. Dark Side of the Ring Season 4

6. Drew McIntyre’s memoir (future)

7. Final Fantasy Mystic Quest soundtrack

8. Frank Miller: “Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For”

9. Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1

10. Honest Ads

11. Keffals

12. Lo-Fi Chill Music on You Tube

13. Mason Denver

14. Minecraft Lego sets

15. Niko’s 8-Bit Stereo

16. Nothing More concert with Crown the Empire and Thousand Below opening for them

17. Optimus Prime Lego set

18. Rachel Oates: “Reflections on Healing”

19. Stanzi Potenza

20. Sting concert with his son Joe opening for him (future)

21. Tales From the Hood soundtrack

22. Tears For Fears concert with Cold War Kids opening for them

23. Tool concert (future)

24. Xanderhal

25. Zena & Poppy: Wholesome Degenerates

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 2

Lucy could have searched the entirety of Rainbow Ranch up and down and it wouldn’t have done anything but make her lonelier. Not a friend in sight. Not even a piece of driftwood came from that flood. The more she traveled, the harder she hugged herself for warmth. She became dangerously close to creating her own flood with the tears that she held back. Her old fur parents wouldn’t have faulted her for crying. She could have done it all she wanted when she was abandoned on this island with many others. Razor Ripley didn’t want “weakness” in his ranks, but Loki the Skull was even more discouraging of vulnerability due to the insane king that haunted his soul. King Harrison wanted Lucy the Hammer to bear a grudge against her abandoners, but all he succeeded in doing was making her resent him instead.

 

The frosty wind gathering around Lucy did nothing to ease her resentment. “That mean old jerk!” she muttered to herself through shivering breaths. With the power station knocked out, there was nothing to guard against the chilly weather that made Lucy shake harder than any sorrow ever could. She had been wandering aimlessly for so long that she failed to take in her surroundings. There was indeed harsh snow dusting the ground and making the air nip at her fur harder than fleas. “Where am I?” she asked. “Where are my friends? Where’s my tennis ball? I want my mommy and daddy…”

 

With very little meat on her bones (armor notwithstanding), she knew she would perish in this weather and was strangely okay with it. This was what abandonment meant to her. Rainbow Ranch was a lie. Her dumpers were right all along. And as long as Razor Ripley was upset with her, she would never prove them wrong. Debating wasn’t where she excelled in life despite having a yappy bark, which she missed using in the presence of her squad mates.

 

And then…a warm breeze passed over her, putting a tiny smile on her face. The more she felt this, the harder her tail wagged. Lucy yapped and barked as she dashed toward the source of this heavenly heat. Among the uncaring frost was a tiny grotto which radiated a warm orange glow. Hopefully, whoever dwelled in this place was as warm as the heat radiating from within. It would have been easier for Lucy to knock, but her happy zeal carried her past the entranceway regardless, romping inside like a wild stampede.

 

The minute the heat warmed her aching bones, she breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on her butt. There could have been a fire-breathing dragon in this grotto and Lucy wouldn’t have cared as long as she could feel this heat forever. Though the breeze was no substitute for a mother’s hug, it came pretty close. Her eyes widened at the sound of a phonograph playing gentle guitar and violin music. As if the relaxation couldn’t be more blissful, now she was going to be lulled to sleep by the sweet strums of guitar strings and graceful glides of violins. Lucy yawned before placing her paws behind her head and smiling her way into the dreamworld.

 

Her subconscious vacation lasted as long as one of her kibble dinners as a pup. The record scratched and the new age lullaby was replaced by the hisses and growls of an angry cat. Lucy gulped and slowly opened her eyes to see an elderly anthropomorphic cat standing over her. The cat flashed her cutting fangs, balanced a golden knife in her hands, all while hogging the warmth for herself in her orange knitted armor with brown leather boots.

 

“Are…are you Ozzie the Wise?” asked a trembling Lucy before turning her head away in anticipation of a scratch.

 

“Ozzie the Wise is nothing more than a myth,” the cat growled in a feminine voice. “I’m Callie the Wildfire and you’ve crossed into my domain. What makes you think you’re welcome here? This is not a stray shelter. Move along, fleabag!”

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” begged Lucy before nipping up. “You don’t understand! I’m a member of the Shut Up Stupid Dogs! I’m here to help you! There’s a wizard on the loose and…”

 

“And you led him here, didn’t you.” Callie’s arms were crossed, blade still balanced in her paw.

 

“No, no! It’s not like that! You see, my…um…my squad mates were all…” Lucy gulped in an attempt to come up with an answer that never came.

 

“Let me guess: they met a cruel and unfair end at the hands of this wizard,” Callie said coldly.

 

“Um…yes…I mean…I hope not…” The tears were harder for Lucy to fight, but fight them she did.

 

“This is what happens when one of your kings decides to turn perfectly happy animals into monstrosities. This was always the plan for him. You think you’re the only one who misses your mommy? I miss mine too! I never had responsibilities and I don’t want them now. And yet, here you are begging for my help when my generator is sputtering and flickering.”

 

“Please, Miss Callie!” Lucy got on two knees and held her hands together like a prayer. “I can help you fix your generator if you just let me stay a while! Besides, you’re in danger! So is Ozzie the Wise!”

 

Callie tucked her head and turned her back to Lucy. “Ozzie the Wise is a danger to himself.”

 

“What do you mean? You know him?”

 

“I used to. He and I were supposed to be beddy-buddies in our fur parents’ humble home. We did everything together. And then…you know by now what King Harrison did. Ever since then, Ozzie became obsessed with responsibilities that were never his. He learned how to use magic and the more he used, the more his mind shut off. He’s not the man I loved so many years ago. I don’t even know who he is. HE doesn’t even know who he is. If he hasn’t gone down the same path as King Harrison with his insanity, he sure as heck is on his way there.”

 

Lucy stood up and hung her own head. “I’m sorry to hear about that, Miss Callie.”

 

“Don’t feel sorry for me, little pup. Animals never had a say in their own fates anyways, whether we were human-like or not. If our destinies are going to be chosen for us, then at the very least they should be chosen by people who undoubtedly care for us.”

 

“That’s…that’s so sad…”

 

Callie sighed and faced Lucy once more. “When you’re as old as I am, sadness becomes part of the norm. You’re not there yet, but you’ll get there someday. Your joints will ache. Your body will break down. Your mind will cannibalize itself. And then…we all fall down and die.”

 

“Why not speed up the process?!”

 

Lucy and Callie gasped before turning to find those words came from Loki the Skull, lightning swirling his hands and poison dripping from his fangs.

 

“So…you DID lead him here, didn’t you! Foolish oaf!” screamed Callie before she pulled out her knife to confront Loki.

 

“Callie, wait!”

 

It was too late; Callie already engaged her enemy with the fastest of stabs. Her paw blurred and flashed because of this speed, which left Lucy wide-eyed and awestruck. “Cool,” Lucy whispered to herself. Soon enough, her stabs began chipping away a the stone walls of her own grotto. She for sure had victory well within hand…until Loki blasted her with an energy ball and send her crashing into her record collection.

 

Lucy gasped as Callie picked herself up to fight again. But once she saw her records and phonograph destroyed, she collapsed to her knees and trembled in sorrow. “Oh no…no…Ozzie loved this music…and it’s gone…All of it’s gone…” She hugged her possessions and tried her damnedest not to break down in front of her mortal enemy. The last connection she had to her past, gone. All gone. Maybe she really should have “sped up the process”.

 

“YOU BIG FAT MEANIE! I’M GOING TO SMASH YOU GOOD!” An enraged Lucy drew her war hammer and charged at Loki with all of her scrappy might. Spittle flew from her lips like rabies and the warmth of the grotto was replaced with hellfire rage for her sworn enemy. She swung. She smashed. She pounded. She gave the old “one, two, buckle your shoe”…and her hammer went flying once again, jutting into the stone wall.

 

Loki, who dodged every shot Lucy gave, mockingly pulled the hammer out of the wall and dangled it in front of her. “This yours?”

 

“Give it back, you sick little mutt!” Every time Lucy jumped up and reached for it, Loki held it out of her way. Bored with this dog-exclusive game of cat and mouse, Loki zapped Lucy in the chest with a thunder bolt and send her barreling across the grotto. She coughed and wheezed at the damage while Loki continued to taunt her with the hammer.

 

“You want this back? Come get it. It’ll be waiting patiently for you in Ozzie’s home!”

 

“YOU LEAVE OZZIE ALONE, YOU PIG DOG! AND GIVE ME BACK MY HAMMER!” shrieked Lucy.

 

Loki ignored her command and teleported out of sight, black dust following him out.

 

Defeated and humiliated, Lucy dropped to her knees once more and pounded the dirt ground with her fists. “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! Why does he get to have all the magic and all I’ve got is this stupid hammer?!”

 

“Magic?! What’s all this about magic?!” snapped Callie as she stood up to collect herself. “Ozzie the Wise has plenty of magic! He’s beaten King Harrison before and he’ll beat him again! You want your hammer back?! I want my past back! Come on, let’s got them both!”

 

Bewildered, Lucy asked, “So…you’re not mad at me anymore?”

 

Callie placed her paw on Lucy’s shoulder and stretched her claw. “Let me put it this way: I’m madder at King Harrison than I am at you. I’ll deal with you another time. But for now…” She held up a piece from one of her broken records. Lucy gulped in fear, but understood the mission at hand.

Lionize the Bad Guy

VERSE 1

He’s got a whole ass file on his favorite chicky

Face Book bikini picks gives him a sticky dicky

Send her a thousand letters, give the envelope a licky

Beat her man with driftwood or make the gun go clicky-clicky

It’s society that made him a little sicky-sicky

Hurry and say sorry, ‘cause time is ticky-ticky

Moral grayness is always tricky-tricky

That’s why you can never be too picky-picky

 

CHORUS

Lionize the bad guy

It’s everyone else’s fault

That he’s such a sad guy

Now the spinning world has come to a halt

 

VERSE 2

Everyone’s favorite story is when zero turns to hero

Might get a good review from some dude named Shapiro

Might become the manifesto of some basement-dwelling weirdo

Might become the ammunition to break the attrition

 

CHORUS

Lionize the bad guy

It’s everyone else’s fault

That he’s such a sad guy

Now the spinning world has come to a halt

 

VERSE 3

Who do you let play with your brain like clay?

They’ve lost their way, it’s as clear as day

They made you laugh, made you cry a long time ago

Now you’re swimming in tears, they’re rolling in dough

Money’s kind of funny in the way it controls everything

Who gets the cardboard box, who gets the brass ring?

It’s the same ring you put your lips on before their boots

All because you found toxic romance to be cute

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

Lionize the bad guy

It’s everyone else’s fault

That he’s such a sad guy

Now the spinning world has come to a halt

Demonize the tearful

They’re always just so sensitive

And always so fearful

In a world that pisses away evidence

 

FINAL LINE

Goodnight, my supreme gentlemen. And always remember: it’s never your fault.

Choir of Evil

 VERSE 1

Shave their heads down to their skulls

Shove a ball gag in their pie holes

Dress them in scrubs, all the same color

Drain their eyes of awe and wonder

Not a single word and no thoughts

Just hum the bars like lifeless robots

Sing the same song every night

Until they get the damn thing right

 

CHORUS

Choir of evil! Less than real people!

Choir of conformity! The true majority!

Choir of death! Numbness in their heads!

Choir of evil! Choir of evil!

 

VERSE 2

Those who believe will live another day

Others get beaten for going astray

Same clones, but different bruises

Flesh and teeth are what everyone loses

The only reward is a thumping heart

A pulse that doesn’t fly off the charts

The choir of evil is better off dead

Brains and tears melting in their heads

 

CHORUS

Choir of evil! Less than real people!

Choir of conformity! The true majority!

Choir of death! Numbness in their heads!

Choir of evil! Choir of evil!

 

VERSE 3

What’s the purpose? What’s it all for?

To get the cult ready for a holy war

Those who fight without question

Just might make it into heaven

Those who zig-zag just a little bit

Will rot in an underworld of fire and shit

There’s no way out except of your meat suit

Decaying shells grow the sweetest fruit

 

BRIDGE

They call these men deprogrammers

Debate you with unequaled grammar

Shatter your beliefs like a ball-peen hammer

Better than a lifetime in the county slammer

Shaking you, wake up, you son of a bitch

There’s a reason your family made them rich

Come home to the smell of ribeye steaks

Taste better than the gag that makes your jaw ache

 

FINAL LINES

Come home!

Come home!

Come home!

Tap out and it’ll all be over!

 

CULTIST SCREAMING

I GIVE UP!

Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For

BOOK TITLE: Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For

AUTHOR: Frank Miller

YEAR: 1993

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Neo-Noir

GRADE: A

 

We’ve seen the femme fatale trope play out across multiple stories, most notably in neo-Noir. When Frank Miller takes hold of the reigns for Sin City 2, it doesn’t feel stale. Ava, the femme fatale in question, comes off like a powerful character who could manipulate her way into any authoritative position. Every man she comes in contact with is wrapped around her finger, not just because of her physical appearance, but also her psychological prowess. Even if you think the femme fatale trope is problematic or overdone, there’s still something to be said for how manipulative humans can be, if not sexually, then in another way that plays into their targets’ sympathies. Femme fatales may be a male gaze character archetype, but narcissists and gaslighters are very real in our world and that’s how Ava comes off in this book. The protagonist of this story, a down-on-his-luck P.I. named Dwight McCarthy, has a history with her and knows her ins and outs. He’s still susceptible to her whims every now and then. That’s what he wrestles with throughout the story and that alone is a struggle worth reading about.

 

If you’re familiar with the gritty underworld of neo-Noir storytelling, then you’ll find everything you’re looking for in this graphic novel. I’ve already mentioned the femme fatale elements, but there’s also smooth-flowing dialogue, morally gray criminals, and fight scenes that raise the stakes through the ceiling. At first, I thought Dwight was just shrugging off his pain after getting beaten so many times in the first half of the story. Even after crashing through a window and falling onto the pavement, he walks away like it’s nothing. He had me for a minute there. But how long could he keep up his macho posturing? How long could he just suck it up and carry on before all this violence nearly does him in? You’ll get your answer in due time after reading enough of this book. I was worried that this was going to be like a WWE storyline where Triple H gets trapped in a car and dropped fifteen feet, only to come out on TV the next night with only “contusions”. Nope! It’s much worse for Dwight. There are a few times where you as a reader will doubt if he’ll be alive by the end of the story. I’m not spoiling a thing for you. If this sounds intriguing, then buy the book and read it yourself.

 

Because this is a graphic novel, all I needed was an hour and twenty minutes to read it from cover to cover. But even with this breakneck speed, it didn’t feel like I was missing out on important details or emotional moments. It was fast, but not excessively fast. It was just right for the kind of story that needed to be told. Dwight tangles with his own emotions and that plays brilliantly into the action sequences that follow his thought processes. When he takes a beating, you feel his beating. When his pain comes from within, you want to sympathize with him even though he has his rotten moments too. I questioned whether I should continue rooting for him after he shoved Ava to the ground during one of their rendezvouses. I urge you to keep reading and not give up on him so easily. With a quick reading speed, you’ll get your answers in the time you want them. Your guilt as a reader can only last so long before you see the truth about Ava.

 

Frank Miller has an edge to him and that shows in pretty much everything he writes. This brand of edginess won’t drive away his audience. In fact, it’ll be a selling point. It’s the neo-Noir grittiness that will keep you coming back for more. It can’t be a hardboiled story without a little edge every now and then. Regardless of how you feel about Frank Miller as a person, there’s no denying that he penned one heck of a story in Sin City 2. Do I want to read the first installment just out of morbid curiosity? Sure, why not? This book gets five stars out of five. No glaring flaws that I can find aside from Dwight refusing to acknowledge his extreme pain.

Two-Sentence Horror Story: Enjoy Coke

Morgan rolled up a hundred-dollar bill and snorted a line of cocaine up his nose. Only then did he regret keeping his stash next to the bottle of Comet.

Lights Out

VERSE 1

My allies chug tears from a predator’s eyes

But all I’ll ever dine on is a slice of humble pie

It tastes like shit sandwiched in an armpit

Then I drink in the irony like it’s Nestle Quick

My friends can turn a funeral into a party

But I can’t show up, can’t even be tardy

I got no invitation in my post office box

Got no master key for these heavy ass locks

 

PRE-CHORUS

Why am I expected to be the beacon of light?

 

CHORUS

Lights out! The room is covered in shadows

Just like my black heart after so many battles

Lights out! That’s called a technical knockout

One punch for every memory you made me block out

Lights out!

 

VERSE 2

Forced to wear a halo, but it’s around my neck

While others turn their rage into a biweekly check

Forced to spread angel wings, but my back is broken

While others never once had to go through the motions

Forced to be sweeter than a gingerbread clitoris

Anything less would just be so inconsiderate

I’m a role model to world that won’t even listen

If you want to keep me quiet, you’ve accomplished the mission

 

PRE-CHORUS

Why am I expected to be the beacon of light?

 

CHORUS

Lights out! The room is covered in shadows

Just like my black heart after so many battles

Lights out! That’s called a technical knockout

One punch for every memory you made me block out

Lights out!

 

BRIDGE

If I put my hands up, will you lay down your arms?

Or will you nail my wrists and ankles to a crucifix charm?

If I keep you comfortable, will you finally fall asleep?

Or will you accuse me, abuse me, and bruise me?

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

Lights out! The room is covered in shadows

Just like my black heart after so many battles

Lights out! That’s called a technical knockout

One punch for every memory you made me block out

Lights out! Your coffin’s covered in darkness

Your skin turns gray and your calcium hardens

Lights out! I’ll disco dance at your wake

All I need to know now is whose hand will I take?

Lights out!

Lights out!

Lights out!

Lights out!

Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1

BOOK TITLE: Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1

AUTHOR: Erik Burnham

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Paranormal Comedy

GRADE: A

 

Sometimes a piece of literature doesn’t have to be super complex in order to earn an A grade from me. It can just be good simple fun like this one was. That’s really all I want from the books I read: to enjoy them and recommend them to anyone else who might be listening. And really, what’s not to love about the Ghostbusters franchise? If you’ve seen the 1980’s films or the cartoon that came out in the same decade, you know what you’re going to get with this series of comics: witty dialogue, paranormal goodness, slime (lots of slime), and main characters who play off each other’s flaws and strengths perfectly. Yes, Peter Venkmann is a creepy ladies’ man, but he’s a likeable creepy ladies’ man with friends who will keep him in check. He’s also a bit whiny when it comes to hard work, which is actually quite relatable. I can’t find any major flaws in this graphic novel, or maybe I really did want to enjoy it and I got my wish.

 

Even with the simplicity of the various plots, there’s one story that managed to stick out in my mind as kind of a heartbreaker. It’s the one where Egon Spengler tracks down an old college friend who carries death in a little pocket dimension. The friend was killed in a major car wreck, but you wouldn’t know that by the fact that he’s still walking around. The thing is, he doesn’t want to be transported to the other side. He wants to live his life and do all the things he wanted to do before the crash. We as the audience are so used to slimy creatures getting zapped with nuclear lasers that we don’t often see little nuggets of philosophy like this one. Will Egon send his friend to the netherworld like his job entails or will he just let it slide out of sympathy? That’s something you’re going to wrestle with for a while even after that particular story ends.

 

Another story that caught my attention was the final one where one of the Ghostbusters (I don’t remember which one) picks up a strange woman on the side of the road and tries to take her home. The only thing stopping him from doing that, of course, is the truck driver ghost who keeps stalking her. Nobody ever drove on these roads and lived to tell about it. Even if you believe this story has a happy conclusion, you still get chills from how it ended. You want to learn more about what the hell happened. You might want to pick up volume two to figure things out. These stories are too funny to be legitimately frightening, but this ending story comes pretty close once it draws to its conclusion. I won’t spoil the ending, but you’ve been warned.

 

One last note before I go: there’s a series of stories that take place when the Ghostbusters drive around America looking for jobs to do. They go to places like Detroit, New Orleans, Area 51, and a city close to where I live, Seattle. The attention to detail and the accuracies of how these cities are portrayed is one way for the author to flex his research muscles. Seattle actually looked like Seattle, Pike Place Market and all. Area 51 had all the aliens you could ask for, but the Ghostbusters knew that they were really ghosts. I love that even in a supernatural environment, aliens are treated with the same skepticism that they are in the real world. That made me chuckle on the inside. New Orleans was a metaphorical gold mine for ghosts given the city’s history with necromancy and voodoo, which is again accurate. These details go to show how important research is to an author’s success. I’m jealous!

 

As I said at the start of this review, this graphic novel and all the stories within don’t have any flaws that jump out at me. Yes, it’s not the most philosophical or groundbreaking thing I’ve ever read, but then again, it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes I just want to have a good time. Sometimes I just want to escape my reality for a little while. Is that alright with everyone here? This book gets a perfect five out of five. It’s a nice return to reading for me and that’s all I really need.

Dear Aunt Ruth 2023

Dear Aunt Ruth,

 

Thank you so much for the $20 check you sent me for my birthday. A little extra money will always be helpful to me. My kitty girl Piper had to go to the vet and the bill took a lot out of me. But she’s very much worth every penny. I love petting her and listening to her purr while she rubs her head against me. I hope to keep her for a long, long time even though she’s in her elder years now. She’s my little grandma kitty!

 

In a year full of creative burnout and generally low productivity, I did manage to find some silver linings in the first half of 2023. One of them was a rock concert in Seattle put on by Nothing More with Crown the Empire and Thousand Below opening for them. I had no idea who the openers were prior to going, but they delivered when it came to putting on a damn good show. I hope to own their entire discographies someday. Nothing More (yes, that is their band name) brought out the big guns with their energetic performances and emotional brand of rock and roll. They even have a machine made out of auto parts called the Scorpion Tail, which is used to create electronic sounds and basically give the lead singer something to go crazy on. This was my third time seeing Nothing More, with the previous two times being when they opened for Papa Roach in 2018 and opened for Ghost in 2019. Now that they had the stage all to themselves, they proved why they deserved to be headliners for many years to come. The fact that Nothing More has so little exposure just makes them criminally underrated. Anyone who likes heavy rock and roll should give them a listen. They won’t regret it.

 

But of course, not all of my silver linings can be about going out in public and mingling with strangers. Sometimes my introversion takes over and I need a good book to read. One of those good books was a collection of poetry and photography by Rachel Oates called “Reflections on Healing”. If you don’t know who she is, she’s a British Youtuber who make video essays about feminism, left-wing politics, atheism, and sometimes book reviews. She also occasionally shows off pictures of her Staffy dog Kyra, who has these saggy jowls and a permanently happy face. As good as Rachel’s poetry is in her book, the subject matter was incredibly heavy as it dealt with topics like psychological trauma, domestic violence, and growing up poor to name a few. But even with these difficult parts of her past, Rachel Oates has grown up to be a loving and kind human being, forever breaking the cycle of all the evil things that have happened to her. We celebrate cycle-breakers in this family, so her book gets five stars out of five, no question about it. Because the book contains poetry and it’s less than a hundred pages long, the reading experience goes by quickly, but the emotional connection stays with you forever.

 

Another book I read over the summer was a graphic novel called “Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1”. If you’ve ever watched a Ghostbusters movie before, then you know what you’re going to get out of this book: smart-ass characters, paranormal goodness, and a nice combination of comedy and drama. What fascinates me a lot about the Ghostbusters franchise as a whole is the names of the lead characters: Peter Venkmann, Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler, and Winston Zeddemore. I don’t know how the creators of the franchise came up with these names, but the style is definitely something you associate with Ghostbusters. Same thing when the 2016 all-female movie came out and had characters named Erin Gilbert, Abby Yates, Jillian Holtzmann, and Patty Tolan. Yep, those sound like Ghostbuster names to me. As an author myself, character names are interesting to me. I sure as hell won’t have any of my fictional characters be named John Smith or Jack Anderson. Boring! Anyways, before I get lost in my tangent, the graphic novel gets an easy five stars out of five. It was good, simple fun that didn’t appear to have any major flaws that I’m aware of. Sometimes that’s all a book has to be: good, simple fun.

 

The progress on my own writing has been slow due to constant burnout, but then again, resting up is just as important as the work itself. That’s something I have to constantly remind myself every time I feel like beating myself up. I’ve often referred to the 2020’s as the Golden Age of Tiredness, because everybody’s feeling exhausted due to one thing or another. We’ll get through this together. We’ll have up days and down days, but the exhaustion isn’t permanent no matter how many times it feels that way. I’ll have my day of victory, even if it’s not today or tomorrow. That $20 check will go a long way in making sure that happens. Thank you, Aunt Ruth. Thank you so much!

 

 

Love,

Garrison

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 1

In a world where something unexpected happened every day, Lucy the Hammer used her time off to chase her favorite tennis ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She missed doing this so much as a non-humanoid puppy that she ran after said ball with excited pitter-patters, galloping like the world’s smallest and peppiest horse. Her long Chiweenie tongue hung down in anticipation for finally getting her beloved toy in her mouth. But once she snapped her jaws, her fellow squad mates would throw it in the opposite direction. Even with whiny cries of, “Give it back, give it back!”, her much bigger humanoid dog companions got their chuckle-filled kicks out of playing keep-away.

And then the towering bulldog caught the tennis ball and waved it around out of Lucy’s reach. Even after jumping her highest, her feet dangling in the air, she could never snatch her coveted treasure. And then the much bigger dog reached down and rolled Lucy on her back, tickling her stomach and getting her to giggle like the little child she always wanted to be. Somewhere in this playful session, the bulldog shoved the tennis ball in Lucy’s mouth and then she began to relax on the stony ground. Her squad mates continued to horse-laugh, but these were jovial laughs rather than mean ones.

The longer Lucy the Hammer could live in the past and forget the Hammer part of her name, the happier she became as evidenced by her glowing grin and wagging butt. Playing with tennis balls, chewing pork sausages, getting belly rubs and ear scratches, and running across wheat fields unhindered by the burdens of humanhood. But as heavenly as these fantasies were for Lucy, it didn’t change the fact that she was laying on a cold stone ground this whole time. 

This place wasn’t her happy home. It was a hydroelectric powerplant in the shape of a pyramid. Water flowed through channels like a gentle creek and powered a spinning magic crystal, the essence of energy in a region already full of magic and hope. Lucy carried a war hammer for a reason. Her squad mates carried swords, maces, and axes for the same reason. Their duties as soldiers were calling to them. War was never the answer, but they protected their homeland from those who thought it was.

“Razor Ripley is here! Salute!” And just like that, Lucy spit her prized possession out of her mouth and joined her squad mates in a straight line, barking their heads off until their voices echoed across the sky. While her much bigger brethren had muscle and power behind their voices, Lucy’s bark was that of a yappy murder victim despite nobody ever laying a finger on her. That’s just how she was.

But the bass in her squadron’s voices couldn’t compare to the monstrous bellow that came out of Razor Ripley’s skeletal mouth. “SHUT UP, STUPID DOGS!” That was the name of their group and upon hearing it, the dogs did what they were told before tensing up military style, weapons in hand, ready for a job.

Ripley cracked his bony knuckles and wiggled his fingers for extra effect. “I’m certain you all have heard the news of a new enemy on the horizon. Except we’ve faced him before and succeeded. But even in this enemy’s new form, we will succeed again. King Harrison Gaines, the brother of our beloved ruler James Gaines, has possessed the body of my lovable lapdog Loki. Loki the Skull as he’s now called is the new vessel for chaos and destruction. King James is busy securing other powerplants here on Rainbow Ranch. We are here to secure this one. Harrison made the vast majority of animals into humanoids expecting them to want revenge on those who dumped them here. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he went insane and incited the violence himself. We can’t let him do that for a second time. Even with his necromantic abilities, we are one! We are strong! We will put him back into the dirt where he belongs! Do you all understand that?!” The dogs barked their loudest. “I can’t hear you! Sound off like you mean it!”

The dogs barked even louder than before, but Lucy was the most animated despite her diminutive form. She swung her hammer all around while declaring, “Let me at him, Razor Ripley! I’ll give him the old one-two-buckle my shoe!” In her overzeal, Lucy spun around and belly flopped onto the ground, her hammer spinning like a beer bottle until it skittered to the tip of Ripley’s toe. Her squad partners gasped in horror while Lucy smiled nervously at her boss.

With a glare on his face that could shake entire civilizations due to his fiery green eyes, Ripley picked up the hammer and marched over to the fallen Lucy, who was trembling and sweating in terror. She gulped a wad of saliva while Ripley’s leather sandaled footsteps echoed off the ground. Ripley leaned down. “On your feet, this instance!” Lucy sprung back up without a second thought before her hammer was given back to her. With a low and sinister tone, her boss said, “I hope you finish your job better than you started. Because if I have to have this conversation with you again…you won’t enjoy the outcome!”

Lucy gulped again. “Yes, sir.” Out of fantasy-land and into the harsh realities of Rainbow Ranch, a place whose survival hinged on her being the best soldier she could be. There was a reason she wore metal armor instead of a wool sweater that her grandma loved dressing her in. There was a reason she carried a hammer and not a tennis ball that reeked of dog breath. There was a reason everyone was glaring at her for literally falling behind on work. It was time to put down the toys and pick up weapons of war that no dog had any business carrying.

The Shut Up Stupid Dogs alongside Razor Ripley marched back and forth in a patrol unit looking for any sign of trouble. The gigantic bulldogs and pitbulls marched with a purpose. Razor Ripley floated through the air like a specter aching for his next haunt. Lucy just stared at the stone floor with the weight of early failure dragging down on her neck. She didn’t want to let anybody down. She wanted to be the goodest of good girls. She also wanted one of her squad mates to scratch her behind the ears and tell her it was okay.

In the glow of a purple magical aura shadowing behind her, Lucy had one more opportunity to prove herself. There he was in the flesh and fur: Loki the Skull, donning a black wizard’s robe with a hood barely concealing his murderous face. No lapdog should ever have been described that way, but here they were.

“This is the end of the line, Harrison!” threatened Razor Ripley as he gathered green energy in his bony hands. His soldiers readied their weapons and backed him up. Lucy once again shook in terror as she stood behind her boss, not out of solidarity, but out of fear of the magical lunatic that floated before them. “Ozzie the Wise has no time or tolerance for you! None of us do! What you’ve done was inexcusable! Now go back to bed, sweet king!”

Razor Ripley threw fireballs and lightning bolts at Loki the Skull while the dog soldiers attempted to rush into battle, cutting their foe off at all angles. Lucy held her war hammer in her trembling hands, clearly out of her league with this evil wizard. Despite having a clear numbers disadvantage, Loki the Skull held his own with rings of electricity and stardust emitting from his aura. The soldiers were swept off their feet while Ripley was blown backwards by the magical tremors. Ripley gave cover fire to his troops while they looked for an opportunity to flank past Loki’s magic and get within striking distance. Every time a soldier thought he had a chance, he was blown back even further with a fiery ring.

Lucy continued to bite her nails and watch in horror while one of her comrades was hanging onto the side of the building, scratching, clawing, and yelping for help. Loki smiled sickeningly as he slowly zeroed in on what would be his first kill of the battle. Loki’s paws electrified, his breath emitted clouds of poison, and his laugh made his evil intentions as clear as the crystal that powered this plant.

Lucy didn’t know which one she feared more: Loki the Skull or knowing she would let her squad down if she continued standing there without doing anything. The sight of Razor Ripley scowling at her and her squad mate dangling on the edge brought forth a fiery heart of her own. She readied her hammer and pitter-pattered across the ground, ducking underneath Loki’s defensive rings. And then she jumped in the air, one mighty swing of her hammer coming down on Loki’s foot.

Harrison’s vessel howled like werewolf while dancing around holding his cartoonishly thumping and pumping foot. Lucy wasted no time in pulling her friend back onto the building while Loki took a plunge of his own. Soon Loki’s cries of pain and terror grew quieter and quieter until he splashed into a lower bank of water like a turd in a toilet bowl.

Lucy’s squadron, Razor Ripley included, gazed upon her with shock and awe. She could only give a nervous smile in response. And then the dogs cheered and hoisted her on their shoulders in victory. “Congratulations, Lucy, you did it! Woo-hoo!” said the tennis ball-wielding bulldog from earlier. The hip-hip-hoorays continued as Lucy was launched higher and higher into the air. She laughed and screamed, “WEE!” while Razor Ripley crossed his arms and smiled benevolently in what seemed like the first time since forever.

Then the sound of cackling fire and electricity started up again and the next time Lucy was caught, she toppled her squad mates. “No…NO!” she cried while Loki the Skull floated right back up to the top of the powerplant, evil energy swirling around him and downward eyes glaring holes through all of his opponents. This time everybody backed up in fear, but Lucy’s newfound confidence led her tiny legs into battle once again. But this time, Loki brought backup in the form of the water from the river bank he had just splashed in. It rose in a tidal wave behind him, taller than the highest trees and more destructive than a biblical flood.

The wave crashed down upon the Shut Up Stupid Dogs and Razor Ripley, washing them down the side of the pyramid-like powerplant. The squad mates and Ripley screamed their heads off as they were being tossed around by the turbulence. Lucy, on the other hand, squealed in delight like she was riding a water slide. “WEEEEEEEEEE!” She even let out a few giggles while her friends were probably defecating themselves knowing they were going to get squished by whatever was down there. Sure enough, the wave hit the bottom of the pyramid and splashed the Shut Up Stupid Dogs and their boss every which way.

The end of the “ride” came when Lucy smacked her butt on the dirty ground and giggled one last time. “That was fun! Let’s do that again, guys!” No response from or sight of her squad mates. “Guys?! Guys, where are you?!” She pitter-pattered on the dirt ground looking for her friends, crying for help and howling in her murder victim way. Just like the day she was abandoned on this once desolate island, Lucy the Hammer was all alone and she knew it. Her head hung low, but not without her blowing the water out of her ears and letting out a deep sigh. Just like the patrol at the top of the pyramid, she trudged along the ground not knowing where to go or how to recover from a failure she thought was her fault. “Where’s my tennis ball?” she softly whined.

IOU

Something unexpected, but not really, though

When it comes to the world, there’s nothing I owe

I gave it everything

Until I couldn’t sing

The world asked for more, well, what do you know?

It’s an abusive romance with a floating rock

She gets all the diamonds, I get a bloody cock

More, more, more

So like a good man whore

I play the cheerleader while she’s fucking a jock

If I go on strike while I’m working this mic

What would there be left to click on and like?

I’m falling behind

In the endless grind

My wheels are spinning like a Kawasaki bike

Here’s an IOU that will never be paid

Here’s a shitty RPG that will never be played

You can be the DM

Until we’re past the PM

Hours of the day, I think my hairs have grayed

That’s all that life is: a game I can’t win

So why am I even going all the way in?

Gamble everything

Lose until it stings

Slam dunk the IOU in the rubbish bin

I owe the world nothing, its people even less

I’ve given all I’ve got and I’m still not the best

Christmas is over

I ain’t being covert

Middle finger to the earth, time for me to rest

Wake me up when you throw a parade

For every sacrifice that I’ve ever made

It’s not ego

I’m not a hero

I’m just full from drinking capitalist Kool-Aid

Ghost Story

I ate a can of spam and my heart went kerplunk

I hit the wooden floor with a heavy ass thunk

Final seconds of my life I saw my greatest hits

From a baby in a diaper to a corpse taking shits

The Rainbow Bridge had burst into flames

The ghosts of my pets with their human names

Possessed my dead body, turned me into a puppet

Now we’re going to have fun, because, fuck it

Kitties and doggies were my necromantic fuel

Now it’s time to get vengeance on a world so cruel

Visit puppy mills and set the little duppies free

Chew the breeders’ brains for all eternity

Visit every dog fighting circuit in the underground

Come on, tough guy, fight with me for five rounds

You might get away with an uppercut or two

But I clamp my broken teeth and start to chew

An abuser’s flesh tastes like T-bone steak

Drink a flood of blood the size of a lake

Rince and repeat until the bones are picked clean

A birthday buffet for the zombified fiend

The Rainbow Bridge is supplied with fresh souls

Every abuser’s death turns the flames ice cold

Ashes of the dead replenish the plant life

From dour to flowers, phytomantic power

Colors glow brightly across the fields

The souls of furry friends can finally heal

After I enjoyed my never-ending meals

I can finally rest in peace as part of the deal

Ghosts leave my body, the maggots take over

Until there’s nothing left but formaldehyde odor

The circle of life continues after death

Every living thing is now eating like a king

Two-Sentence Horror Story: These Colors DO Run

An internet troll asked the gamer girl, “What color is your thong today?” She answered, “Brown and yellow, with some tinges of red thrown in there.”

Beautiful Monster, Prologue

Elves from all walks of life filed into the Magetan church as though they were already in a Death Valley March trance. Farmers, warriors, healers, scholars, adults, children, they had all seen their fair share of trauma by virtue of their light green skin and pointy ears. It was just another form of othering that the human population had gotten far too comfortable with. The Xavier Village was their only refuge from it all, yet the luster of safety was growing dimmer with each passing day, with each missing elf, with each instance of violence and every microaggression. 

The elven flock took their seats in the wooden pews. Some of them breathed slowly to try to calm themselves down. Mothers held their bewildered children in their arms. Married couples of all sexual orientations rested their heads on each other’s shoulders and held hands as tightly as they could, as if letting go would cause them to float away into the dark abyss. Most of these elves didn’t bother dressing up in their finest clothing for this sermon. Dirt-covered overalls, torn leather vests, baggy pants that were the only source of comfort for some, and dresses with faded purple colors were among the fashion of the day. The collective trauma must have made dressing their best seem like a laborious chore. No one could blame them. Combing their flowing locks seemed like the only notable effort.

Conspicuous by her own presence was the woman with prematurely gray dreadlocks sitting alone on the far end of one of the pews. While other elves were simply sick and tired of the grind of their disenfranchised lives, Bijou Birdwing seemed to carry that burden more than anyone else. The bridal gown she wore looked as though it had seen many years of fights and lonely nights in the streets of Morgan Town, judging from the blood and dirt stains smeared every which way. Her body odor was forgivable among the flock, but the constant twitching, muttering to herself, and staring off into the distance caused them to hold onto their loved ones even tighter. Bijou had been through hell and she seemed determined to put the world through worse.

Queen Llewellyn Xavier took notice of every disturbing aspect among the congregation’s presentation, yet remained the sole beacon of hope in this village by virtue of how she herself was presented. Her pristine purple velvet robe adorned with leonine faces and golden trim along with her wooden crown were symbols of her regality, but her calm composure, her hands across her lap, and her gentle stare were what solidified her as a symbol of strength. 

Her therapist and personal confidant Vera Echo rubbing her shoulders helped in keeping her calm as well. One final squeeze and the fluffy blue robed therapist took her seat in the front pew. Llewellyn smiled at her confidant as Vera pulled out her plush doll and flipped it around as her own source of comfort. Everyone had their own things. This was Vera’s. With her age showing in the white strands in her long black hair, she’d seen enough in her lifetime and didn’t want to take shit from people telling her to grow up.

Now that everyone had taken their seats and were waiting patiently for the sermon to begin, Llewellyn took center stage and lightly banged the gong with her mallet. “Nagata,” she said while doing a fist-to-palm prayer stance. Others in the congregation repeated this gesture. This was a sign of respect among the Magetan covenant, a source of siblinghood, and a token of love. These people needed all the love and siblinghood they could get, especially Bijou who continued to twitch like she had consumed something poisonous for her already fucked up mind.

“Welcome, everyone. As you all are aware, there’ve been many changes in our village over the past few months. Most of our brothers and sisters have gone missing through mysterious circumstances. Those who try to investigate end up missing themselves…including my own flesh and blood Windham. He is out there somewhere looking for our loved ones. But until the day comes when everyone returns, it’s important to know why this is all happening. This isn’t but a random occurrence. There’s a history behind these actions. A history of othering. A history of violence. A history of fascism among the human race, the same humans we depend on for our currency with the outside world.”

Llewellyn tucked her head and cleared her throat, the smallest sign of crumbling under pressure, yet invisible to all. “To understand the history of our people, it is always important to remember that this land we call ours doesn’t belong to us at all. It in fact once belonged to a society of dwarves that have since moved underground due to human meddling. It is unclear when they will return to the surface for vengeance. The dwarves were painted as savages and cutthroats, when it was in fact the accidental consumption of a single poisonous plant that caused many of them to lash out the way that they did. Was the Brock Flower planted there on purpose? May have been. But ever since the consumption of that plant, this land was used by other kingdoms as an execution ground for undesirables and prisoners. They would be airdropped into these lands knowing the sickly dwarves would kill them.”

While the Queen took a brief sigh, Vera clutched her doll tighter while Bijou grew more agitated in her little corner. Other elves held onto their loved ones for comfort. The Queen continued. “These undesirables weren’t killers and hardened criminals. They were innocents that we would have welcomed into our church if given the opportunity. Those with mind ghosts, those who loved the same gender, those who identified as other genders, progressives, artists, they were all airdropped onto this island and killed off as to be expected. But then the kingdom got greedy and dropped too many prisoners onto the island. The prisoners soon outnumbered the dwarves and in fact held their own in combat. The dwarves had no choice but to retreat underground.”

Llewellyn noticed Bijou twitching even harder than before, but continued the sermon nonetheless. “The dwarves are not to blame in all of this. They were victims of circumstance. That is why we take care of their land and grow the finest vegetables and fruits…like this one.” She pulled a baby corn cob out of her robe’s breast pocket and handed it to a small child in the front row, who thanked her with wide eyes and gobbled down on it happily. Everyone smiled at this beautiful gesture. Vera held onto her doll like it was a beloved family member. Bijou calmed down, but only a little bit.

“But as you all know, not all of our vegetables and fruits have turned out to be healthy. A blight had infected our crops, one which could be solved with our grangers had they not disappeared. They too were victims of othering, just like the first elf Ryoka, a warrior with brain ghosts who was among the class of prisoners who forced the dwarves to move underground. She did nothing wrong other than have a skin condition that turned her dark green and struggle with her inner demons. That’s all it took for her to be considered undesirable. She, like many elves after her, was accused of witchcraft after the accidental burning of Morgan Town property. Maybe there was magic in those days, but it has long since been suppressed by human colonialism.”

The initial happiness from Llewellyn’s corn offering turned to more nervousness and head-tucking sadness from the congregation. “But our story didn’t end there. It only began with the emergence of our leonine god Mageta. Nobody knows where this god came from. Nobody knows why he saved us. But just like the dwarves before us, he deserves respect in our people’s history. Mageta slaughtered those who dared imprison and oppress us. His warm fur coat provided a place for sickly elves to rest. His fuzzy paws, though worn with combat, gave us hugs that would last us for generations. 

That was five hundred years ago and ever since then we’ve given him thanks with our worship and our progressive ways. With this small reprieve he gave us, we as elves temporarily broke our cycles of abuse inflicted on us by the humans. We continue to break cycles and be better versions of ourselves than generations before…because Mageta is no longer here with us. After he was savagely hunted down by those he fought against, he forged his own meadow kingdom in the afterlife. He is waiting for us. He wants to give us comfort and love once again. But first…we must carry on his legacy in this world.”

Llewellyn proudly waved her arm around the church decorations. “You see these lion statues? Do you see these stained glass windows of elven legends past and present? Do you see these paintings of us being victorious in battle? Do you see tapestries and rugs designed with the faces of animals we love today? It is our creativity that makes us feel alive in a world that wants us dead. It is our therapy, much like the animals that live in our village themselves. Ever created a sculpture of a whale and had a nightjar sit on your shoulder the entire time? Windham has. Ever painted a picture of your wife with flowers in her hair while a kitten sits on your lap? Ever chiseled a granite weapon while a dog rubs his head against the blunt end? Progressivism, cycle breaking, creativity, animal care, these things are all what we live for. They make life bearable. They make it worth living. That is why we must take good care of each other for the time we have left. Nagata!”

The congregation, Llewellyn included, did the first-to-palm prayer to end the sermon. This moment of clarity was broken when Bijou stood up and shrieked, “Get your hands out of my underwear! Get your bastardly hands off of me!” She had everyone’s shocked attention, but Llewellyn held her ground.

“Bijou! Who are you talking to?! Who did this to you?!”

Bijou went silent as her paranoid eyes darted around to see everyone staring at her with paranoid eyes of their own. “…Nobody…there’s nobody here…”

“Listen to me, my friend,” said Llewellyn in a firm, yet gentle tone. “Dr. Echo’s door is open to you anytime you need someone to talk to. Things haven’t been the same since your sister Juliet left you to join the Atwood Queendom. Her betrayal is unforgivable. She’s the Mother Ruth archetype we hear about so much. I know you two used to play with dolls together. You told stories to each other. You had so much creative energy inside you. Let us help you get your passion for life back. Please…seek help. It doesn’t even have to be a therapy session with Vera. It could be a backgammon game with her. Or a chess game with me. Maybe we can tell stories together. Let us help you in whatever way we can.”

“Help? You want to help ME?!” Bijou screamed, making everyone jump backwards in fear. “I don’t need your damn help, Llewellyn. In fact, I downright despise you. If I had a knife in my hand, I would slash you from asshole to appetite. You’re the reason why my sister is gone. You’re the reason why my mother abandoned us. And you’re the reason why this village is turning to shit. You stand up there all high and mighty and yet you haven’t done a single thing to restore the peace. Your empty words don’t work on me. My words…” She pointed to her own head. “Come from here. They’re the only ones I can trust from now on. Everyone else is a backstabber.” Bijou gave Llewellyn double middle fingers as she stomped out of the church. She even pushed over a granite statue of Mageta on her way out.

The rest of the congregation stared at their Queen with disbelief in their eyes, as though their symbol of strength had let them down. They exited the church the same way they came in: imitating the Death Valley March, a traumatic condition where marching blindly into combat was the only way to the afterlife. 

I failed them. I failed them all. Damn it, Windham. Where are you? Where are you, Lars? I need someone to lean on. Yet, everyone I love has turned away from me. These were the thoughts that circled Llewellyn’s head as she tucked her chin and turned her back to the audience so that she wouldn’t have to watch them walk away from her. Bijou is delirious. But some of what she said was right… Vera approached Llewellyn for another shoulder rub, but this time was turned away as the Queen trudged out of sight. If my parents were alive, they wouldn’t let this be. The shameful trek back to her throne room ended with a plop on her comfortable bed, face down like a drunk in an alleyway. I have no right to sleep in a comfortable bed when others are suffering. Windham, please come home. Lars, we need to talk. Can anyone help me?!