Two-Sentence Horror Story: "Nut Up AND Shut Up"

When Murder Nuts the Clown kidnapped an entire bus full of high school cheerleaders, it took a lot of balls for him to do what he did. They came in many colors and all of them had leather straps.

Two-Sentence Horror Story: "The Gold Standard"

The honeybee thanked Preston for moving it out of harm’s way by stinging his finger and leaving a throbbing welt. After a cussing storm that rivaled most Floridian hurricanes, Preston said you’re welcome by unzipping his jeans and showering the bee with his own brand of golden honey.

Enjoy Prison

Uncle Sam taught you the way of the fist

And that murder is the answer when you’re mildly pissed

And that you can blame your crimes on war trauma

Give your own friends trauma, lead to courtroom drama

They describe all the pranks you pulled upon them

And how you told them to take it like they’re manly men

And how you called them every bigoted slur in the book

Lifelong sentence, now you’re on the fucking hook

 

Enjoy prison! It’s the closest thing to war

Being a civilian was just too much of a bore

You went stir crazy without your automatic

Now you can throw fists for free without causing any panic

The prison guards turn the other cheek

While your rape victims can’t shit right for a week

While their purple bruises show the cell block who loses

Their broken bones couldn’t hold partition phones

 

Enjoy prison! Your dinner tastes like diarrhea

It’s like every ration meal since the war in Korea

Maggots here, flies there, maybe some long hair

Taxes could provide better, but the state doesn’t care

But that’s okay, because it reminds you of war

You’re the baddest motherfucker in the whole damn Corps

All those pushups and burpees prepared you for combat

If a riot broke out, you’d get your ass right on that

 

Enjoy prison! What’re they going to do?

Bump it up to never-ever? You’re already screwed

You forgot about solitary, oops, you fucked up

Ask the warden for forgiveness, he’ll say, “Shut up!”

It’s just the darkness and what’s left of your mind

As it eats itself alive just like it did in wartime

Are those pills used to treat the worst parts of you?

No, they’re pebbles, but you can swallow those too

 

Enjoy prison! Because you’re never getting out

You’re a POW with not one escape route

SEAL Team Six ain’t coming to save you

Just be thankful for the medal Uncle Sam gave you

It could have been currency in the prison economy

But you killed all your trust with the bloody sodomy

All you’ve ever wanted was a license to kill

But all you’re killing is time, it stands perfectly still

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee

VERSE 1

He said:

“I crawled so you can run, now I’ll cut off your legs

Don’t fuck before you’re married, now some forced anal sex

You’ll get hired today and then laid off tomorrow

Ask for pocket change? That’s a loan you can’t borrow

I set you up for failure like a sick evil fuck

‘Cause some preacher man said that life’s supposed to suck

They’re not invisible rules, they were written in stone

Long before you were born and after you die alone”

 

CHORUS

Too big to fail? That ship already sailed

Too small to survive? They’ll debate your whole life

Too much in the middle of a roasted shit sandwich

Wake up and smell the coffee, that’s how life’s supposed to happen

 

VERSE 2

A teenaged mom who never had the chance

To go to the prom and ask the crown prince to dance

An autistic kid who didn’t know what they did

To deserve shock torture by the highest court’s order

A Disney fanatic who wanted to learn how to draw

He kept dreaming too much, so he got decked in the jaw

Abortion starts to seem like a better alternative

But the country church hillbillies insist that they live

‘Cause without a population of innocent souls

Who bears the brunt of the abuse so bitter and cold?

 

CHORUS

Too big to fail? That ship already sailed

Too small to survive? They’ll debate your whole life

Too much in the middle of a roasted shit sandwich

Wake up and smell the coffee, that’s how life’s supposed to happen

 

VERSE 3

God has a morbid and dark sense of humor

It’s gallows comedy for the toddler with a tumor

It’s a punch-down bonanza for the Mexican child

Who was thrown in a cell like an animal that’s wild

It takes a hideous demon to get a source of laughter

From a school shooting and the laziness after

From the politicians who broke all their promises

And then went on vacations to their summer cottages

A Cabin in the Woods is what I really meant to say

That’s where they store the bodies of kids who came out gay

 

OUTRO

None of us asked to be born in this bedlam

To be test subjects for an automatic weapon

To be born for five seconds and bombed right away

By racist sons of bitches who don’t like the way we pray

Wake up and smell the coffee

Harvested by little kids who were treated so awfully

By a social order that requires they get lashed

Until they work no more and get thrown out with the trash

Being a bunch of nothing isn’t the insult you think it is

Compared to life on earth, being nothing is bliss

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 4

 

You ever hear that phrase snitches get stitches? Well, in my case, that’s provided I even make it to a hospital to begin with. That ambulance had to be haulin’ ass and doin’ all sorts of Motocross tricks across the highway to get me there on time now that word probably got out the minute I stepped on the concrete. Somebody would have heard about me ratting on Scar Tissue and White Snake. Whomever had their eardrums pounded with that information first would be the ones shanking me to death or putting bullets in whatever was left of my messed up brain. If it wasn’t going to be Scar Tissue and White Snake themselves, who would it be? The Bad Faith Actors Guild? The Monkey Slayers? The United States of Hitler? Any number of incel gangs rooting around in Bull Rope?

 

Nah, man. I didn’t see anybody in fedoras wanting to stick a knife in my guts. What I saw made me want to die. I’d been wandering around the city for a while not really paying attention to my surroundings until I found myself in a homeless district. A whole sidewalk lined full of ordinary people who lost every ounce of hope in their decaying bodies.

 

I saw a teen momma with a face full of dirt trying to bottle feed her little crotch goblin, if only he’d stop cryin’ his baby blue eyes out. Lord knew he had a lot to cry about not only in the present, but if he survived poverty and somehow made it into the future without dying of starvation.

 

I saw an old lady sittin’ in a scraped-up rocking chair trying to bundle up with every piece of fabric she had. Nothing would be thick enough to cover her skinny-ass body and she shook hard. The shaking might have had less to do with the chilly weather and more to do with drug withdrawal. I trudged a little further trying to hold back that stinging saltwater in my eyes.

 

And then I saw a pair of blistered and cracked feet hanging out of a cardboard box. I could barely see a chest rising and falling in there, but even that wouldn’t last forever in this frosty mess that we call weather. He didn’t have nothing but a torn up T-shirt on his back and a little paper cup with change jingling around in there. I wanted to give him a big wad of cash that I earned from wheeling and dealing with Black Tar Kiss, trading for ingredients to make that magical chewing tobacco. A wad of cash had nothing on a good homecooked meal and my heart sank to the bottom knowing it was already too late for him.

 

Seeing some shopping-cart pushers, some little kids in knockoff coats freezing their butts off, some old grandpa slumping around with a cane and not a single thing on his naked feet, not only did seeing these people put my weary eyeballs through hellfire and torture, but they reminded me of a meme I saw on the Book of Faces one time. It said, “You’re closer to being homeless than you are to being a billionaire.” A broken heart was the least of my worries. That meme was looking more like a reality the more I realized my money wouldn’t last forever. I could stay at a cheap-ass motel for a few nights, but then what? Right back on the streets to meet my new neighbors.

 

This wasn’t a neighborhood. It was a graveyard for people who still had something resembling a pulse. Old people and kids were among them. Old people and kids! My stomach growled and ached at the thought of these homeless folks dying a slow and agonizing death all because nobody would give them a bite to eat. They probably heard the unwanted advice of, “Get a job!” even though they already took it and still couldn’t afford shelter. Bull Rope ain’t no hippie paradise. This place was a death camp with no guards. Smelled like one, too. Made me wonder if the coroner had a steady supply of nose clips to go around, that was if he wasn’t too busy blowing snot out of it from all the tears he shed beforehand. Making a coroner or an undertaker cry took talent, but none of them talents translated into success in the job market. Squandered potential everywhere, though someone probably squandered it for them.

 

Speaking of squandered potential, as I was dragging my frozen carcass across the newspaper and plastic jug-covered sidewalk, who else but Scar Tissue popped up in my swimming head. Swimming was an appropriate way to describe it, because I just about sold my own pal up the river. This wasn’t just some wannabe thug who couldn’t cut it in the Mexican Mafia. Hell, he had no business in Black Tar Kiss anyways. This was a dude who played multiple instruments and had a love for heavy metal and hard rock. This was a dude who should have opened for Slipknot one year and headlined his own show many years down the line. He should have been slapping that bass and beating them drums all over the world from Italy to Japan to Brazil to back here in the US of A.

 

Why would a guy with all the promise in the world want to throw it all away just to hang out with incel thugs? During our time together while we were out of earshot from White Snake, he told me why. Truth was, he didn’t throw any of it away. His momma did. His batshit bipolar ass-beating momma decided her own hijo was a worthless piece of crap and smacked him around with her rubber slipper, damn near every night. Grades too low? Smack on the arm. Didn’t do his chores? Smack on the ass. Couldn’t get a part-time job at the pizzeria? Double smack on his thighs. Couldn’t walk on water like Jesus Christ? Breathed in and out? Dared to make a little bit of a fuss? Thwack, thwack, thwack! Apparently, physical punishment was a big part of Latino culture. It was so normal to his family that he would hear Mexican comedians on TV joke about it and think it was a high bar for parenting. If he complained about it, it would just bring about more beatings with the slipper. Or a leather belt. Or an open hand. Or a copy of the 2,000-year-old fantasy novel that my dad read a lot.

 

Speaking of Christianity, God bless Scar Tissue’s soul, because he tried to find an outlet for his trauma. Lots of them, in fact. He already told me he learned how to play drums from listening to The Warning. What he also told me was that he was a little bit lovesick for them three chicas. Every night he’d go to bed and have these intense fantasies about them girls. Sometimes he would open for their shows. Sometimes he would have dinner and lunch with them. Sometimes he’d hold hands with them and walk down the streets talking about this and that. And then there were those nights where his fantasies were…let’s just say, a little more involved. He was in love with all three of those sisters even though he never had the chance to meet them. Not once did they come to his home town. When Scar Tissue took the last beating he was going to take from that slipper smacking his bare ass and stinging the piss out of him literally, he knew The Warning weren’t coming to save him. He felt betrayed by three girls who never knew he existed. The sting of his ketchup red flesh outweighed the beauty of his lovey-dovey fantasies. When he first started communicating with White Snake over the internet, he jumped at the opportunity to run away from home and into the arms of an “alpha male”.

 

Everyone thinks gang leaders and Black Pillers like White Snake are just brainwashing and torturing random kids just so he can send them into battle to live out his own perverted fantasies. It was brainwashing, but he did it by giving us what we wanted and telling us what we wanted to hear. Before we joined Black Tar Kiss, we were nothing. No different from the gum stuck to someone’s shoe. No different from the diarrhea dumps in a public bathroom stall. No different from the tampons that soaked up more blood than we could dream of spilling in a gang fight. But once we joined up with him and got our names, we became badasses. We controlled the narrative. And if we worked hard enough in his ranks, we’d get better gangbanger names and all the money and chickies as far as our tear-stained eyes could see. All we had to do was reinvent ourselves. Get hard. Get tough. Pump that iron. Max those looks. Flex those muscles and macho man ourselves into the gang world. If anyone disrespected us, we would make them pay. If any woman turned us down, they’d be laying down and we’d be getting down.

 

Remembering Scar Tissue’s origin story must have been like taking a skewer to the eyeballs, because they were hurting like hell at this point. I wasn’t about to let out a whimper in case any of them thugs from The United Staes of Hitler or the Black Dragon Machineguns lurked around the corner. And then…some little lady did my whimpering and crying for me. Snapped me right out of my eyeball-murdering trance and made me realize I had been walking this whole time not paying attention to where I was going. My phone was buzzing like crazy, but I wouldn’t have answered it even if I was alert and alive. I had to give my dad credit, though: he wasn’t about to give up on the last of his bloodline. Maybe he should have, ‘cause I’d already given up on him and prepared myself for life on the street. A cardboard box was small potatoes compared to the spring mattress with the volume turned up to eleven.

 

After I had gotten my bearings, I turned my head and saw a group of chicks in yoga pants crouching on the ground attending to someone who shook and cried like she had just seen holocaust footage…in real time. These Stacies were supposed to be my enemy. This was a perfect opportunity to up my alpha male game and make them all obey. Lay them down and lay them good. Then my tummy got sour as I remembered all the misogynistic and pedophilic rhetoric that spewed from White Snake’s mouth like word vomit. Why the hell was I going to bat for him anyways? I never liked him past the point of getting me out of my hellhole of a home. These girls needed help and I needed a redemption arc in the worst way. I ran right over to see what the hell was going on.

 

Once I asked one of the women, she screamed, “There’s a guy going crazy in there! He just started wailing on us and yelling a bunch of nonsense about Black Pills! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him!” Her speech got more frantic and she started stuttering at a million miles an hour as she held up her phone. “I can’t get any reception around here to call the cops! He’s still in there!”

 

She was spitting out information while my fried brain worked overtime to process it all. And out of the corner of my eye, I see that whoever was in there ranting and raving like an idiot had dropped his wallet, also like an idiot. I picked that sucker up and rummaged through it, hoping to find something resembling useful information. In between all the dead credit cards and dollar bills, there it was in all its glory: his driver’s license. That was definitely White Snake’s face on it, which looked like a prison mugshot with his wild eyes and serial killer frown. You know what else was on it? His government name. He never used it because he didn’t want me and Scar Tissue using ours. Our gangbanger names were our identities moving forward.

 

And speaking of moving forward, guess what bad decision I was about to make with my immature teenaged cerebral cortex? I tucked the wallet in my pocket and dashed into the yoga studio where all the chaos was happening and no copper could do anything about it because the reception sucked. Them yoga-hosers tried to plead with me not to go in there or do anything stupid, but selective deafness was a bitch and White Snake was about to become mine.

 

The yoga studio had exercise equipment strewn all over the floor like a stampede of horses just rushed through here. Busted windows, benches smashed in half, the reception desk had its cash box spilled all over the floor, and wouldn’t you know it, there was the devil himself. You’ve seen this movie a thousand times, so what did you think White Snake was doing with the chick in pink yoga shorts and blue sports bra when he had her by the brown ponytail? He repeated exactly what he saw at Battleground Park with Me Encanta Femicidio: he bent her over a bench that hadn’t been completely wrecked and spanked her apple bottom something fierce. Even the dialogue was relatively the same. SPANK, SPANK! “Naughty girl!” SPANK, SPANK, SPANK! “Bad, bad girl!” Repeating cycles was normal in his neck of the woods, obviously.

 

I could have ran over there and spear tackled him to the ground, maybe break a few ribs in the process. But I decided to hit him where it would hurt even worse. “ALLEX!” That got his attention in a heartbeat. He even let go of the chick he was spanking and she booked it out the shattered glass door. Getting shards between her toes and stuck in her soles was the lesser of two evils when the alternative was getting one more wallop on her butt.

 

“Allex Broker! That’s the name your momma gave you, right?!” And just like that, he stared at me like he wished he had a sniper scope in front of those coldblooded eyes of his.

AK Spray Is the Only Way

INTRO

I don’t want stress management skills

I want an AK-47

I don’t want to negotiate with my abusers

I want an AK-47

I don’t want to apologize to angry customers

I want an AK-47

Because AK spray is the only way!

 

VERSE 1

You can call me a cosplay revolutionary

You can say I’m no different from a bloody mercenary

You can call me an edgelord visionary

You can call me undesirable and say you’ll never marry

But all I want is justice, a little bit of substance

To go with the speeches of authority’s reaches

Violence is the language of the voiceless

Desperation is the language of the choiceless

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

 

VERSE 2

Childhood trauma killed all my potential

And they’re the ones with the nerve to call me mental

Blame me for my own pain, do it for their own gain

And all I’ve got is, “I’m fine” when I’m asked if I’m okay

Nothing like a smoking barrel to loosen their lips

World’s easiest confessions, descend the iceberg tip

Even they know the lake of fire’s a one-way trip

Scan their boarding passes, they’re called bullets in their asses

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

 

BRIDGE

When the senators and reps break all their promises

When the Thin Blue Line takes a million hostages

Logic and reason never permeate their brains

But a flood of bullets will, now clean up all the stains

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

It’s just a fantasy and my words are only words

It’s my very best defense from being called a jailbird

But only privilege and riches will get the benefit of the doubt

The womb’s the way in, electric chair’s the way out

Troll's Tears

If my mini fridge wasn’t stocked with Mountain Dews

Cans of troll’s tears are what I’d choose

Not a scarce resource, I’d stay hydrated forever

‘Cause those bitches are crying like it’s rainy weather

Is it any coincidence that it tastes so salty?

You got to be salty if petty is what you call me

Jealousy and envy over individuality

They’re mediocre and plain, that’s their whole reality

They see the world through a black and white lens

It makes me wonder how they have any friends

They’re a bigger pain in the ass than a colonoscopy

Bigger pain than rectal cancer shown in the autopsy

Maybe their bodies on a table is a bunch of wishful thinking

There’s no thinking from them, just some Kool-Aid drinking

Every troll looks the same because they are the same

Trying to out-suck each other in a competitive game

There are no gold medals for their basic bitch statuses

Maybe that explains why they’re so damn mad at us

They’d kill for some color in their plain vanilla world

They’d kill someone anyways, maybe a cute girl

A chick who turned them down in front of the whole town

For being a big nothingburger and an even bigger clown

The only thing bigger is the size of their egos

Yet they’re fragile like glass despite their macho ethos

These pathetic motherfuckers aren’t worth my time

I’ll drink their tears and keep on pumping out rhymes

Voice of Reason

CHORUS

No one would believe me when I had a story to tell

They bent the knee to the powers that be

They’re too afraid of burning in hell

You’re not the voice of reason, you’re enabling treason

You’re handing out forgiveness like it’s Christmas season

A seat at my table should always be earned

Fuck the crosses you burned

What are the lessons you’ve learned?

 

VERSE 1

You want me to compromise with the ones who tell lies

And give them any credence like they’re just as wise

Shake hands with the Klan for your economic plan

Where we come together for this capitalist cheddar

One for all and all for one

But what will you do now that the damage is done?

Marginalization is institutionalization

But at least we can agree this is a badass nation

 

CHORUS

No one would believe me when I had a story to tell

They bent the knee to the powers that be

They’re too afraid of burning in hell

You’re not the voice of reason, you’re enabling treason

You’re handing out forgiveness like it’s Christmas season

A seat at my table should always be earned

Fuck the crosses you burned

What are the lessons you’ve learned?

 

VERSE 2

You call it unity when you fit the square pegs

Into the round holes while the beggars beg

We’re all equal because we all look the same

As we’re playing Monopoly, a real-life game

Say nighty-nighty, give your dreams to the mighty

It’s for the common good even with the white hoods

In the end, we’ll all be ground up into sausage

But at least we won the war, ‘cause the street trash lost it

 

VERSE 3

You’re not riding the fence, you’re riding the dick

Of Agent 47 who should be 86ed

You say you love us all, but you won’t answer the call

You’ll be so far away when another tower falls

Of course you’re apathetic and it’s kind of pathetic

How you use your privilege to rewrite and edit

The story of history through your eyes, not theirs

You’re so rich and lionized that you don’t have to care

 

CHORUS

No one would believe me when I had a story to tell

They bent the knee to the powers that be

They’re too afraid of burning in hell

You’re not the voice of reason, you’re enabling treason

You’re handing out forgiveness like it’s Christmas season

A seat at my table should always be earned

Fuck the crosses you burned

What are the lessons you’ve learned?

 

OUTRO

No small surprise where the center really lies

You’re the center of the universe, now everything’s worse

You sang kumbaya with jackboot-wearing thugs

Future civilizations will wonder if we’re on drugs

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 3

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

DIY

VERSE 1: INTERNET TROLL

“Your writing’s so awful, I wish you’d stop

Crimes against humanity, I’ll call the cops

Your books get mentioned in the Geneva Conventions

They’re torture, I’ll call for an Executive Order”

 

CHORUS 1

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Come over to my home and ring the doorbell

You better be packing a rocket launcher

Or I’ll enslave you, make you my salad tosser

You’d never risk getting decked in the mouth

You’d never risk getting your tongue pulled out

Keyboard courage doesn’t amount to shit

Dish it out all you want, but you can’t take it

 

VERSE 2: RED PILLER

“I can’t get laid, ‘cause her legs ain’t shaved

Neither are her pits or the nipples on her tits

Every female should look like Wonder Woman

And have a personality so bland and wooden”

 

CHORUS 2

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Jack it off, jack it raw for your prostate health

Ain’t nobody going to do it for you

Especially when your hobby is going “pew-pew”

At a high school or a gay rights march

Or a feminist meeting without a patriarch

You got a four-wheel drive playing Kid Rock live

But you got no soul, that’s why you can’t find a hole

 

VERSE 3: POLITICIAN

“I’ll rattle my saber until you do me a favor

Drop to your knees as you try to appease

Kiss my ass until the end of time

Or I’ll lock you up for your treasonous crime”

 

CHORUS 3

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Stop hiding behind all your status and wealth

Put your working boots on and let’s get it on

Don’t tell me you’re right, show you’re not wrong

But chickening out is what you do best

And you couldn’t pass a military psych test

Run for the hills, take your Ivermectin pills

Or better yet, cyanide to melt your insides

 

OUTRO

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

The punk movement said it, yet you somehow forget it

“They’re all too woke and they’re all going soft”

Yet you’re so tough that you hide behind the cops

Hide behind ICE while you pay the price

For your FAFO moment, you refuse to own it

You’re a sheep on the farm being led to slaughter

Shave off your wool, put it on the king’s daughter

You Are the Reason

You are the reason you lost all your friends

You are the reason your romances end

You are the reason you’re all alone

You are the reason and you can’t atone

 

You are the reason we hate religion

You are the reason we hate politicians

You are the reason we have division

I’m starting to think this was your mission

 

You are the reason the world’s on fire

You are the reason we hang by a wire

You are the reason we’re too damn tired

To raise any children in a world of killin’

 

You are the reason we cannot forgive you

You are the reason you need all the tissues

You are the reason for your own damn tears

You didn’t lead with hope, you led with fear

 

Now who could I be talking to when I say “you”?

A former friend? Some relatives? Some troll with loose screws?

The answer is yes, you and all the rest, and I said it best

Here comes Armageddon, we won’t let you forget it

 

I am the reason you’re gone forever

I am the reason we never speak ever

I am the reason for all the boundaries

I set them up and I say it proudly

 

I am the reason my life is much better

I am the reason, I am the trendsetter

I am the reason why I still have hope

Let you back in? That’s a big nope!

Pulling on the Masks

INTRO DIALOGUE

Uno, dos, tres, cuatro

Can you hear me, Juan?

Okay, these people think they’re the Master Race?

 

VERSE 1

Pulling on the masks, not wiping their asses

Wiping is gay, they’re supposed to be fascists

Run into a school zone, terrorize the masses

Pinhead, pinhead, racial slur passes

Pinhead, pinhead, racial slur passes

Appropriating cultures like a motherfucking vulture

Pinhead, pinhead, getting really pissed

Pinhead, pinhead, MAGA terrorists

 

VERSE 2

Logging onto Tinder to get themselves some

Chickies in the streets, grab their fucking bums

When they want her number, she will give them none

Pinhead, pinhead, chivalry is done

Pinhead, pinhead, chivalry is done

Scaring off the women in a patriarchal system

Pinhead, pinhead, sucking on her face

Pinhead, pinhead, getting sprayed with mace

 

VERSE 3

When they’re at a protest, at first they pull a gun

But when they see some blue hair, then they start to run

When they see their pronouns, it makes them think twice

Pinhead, pinhead, secretly enticed

Pinhead, pinhead, secretly enticed

Consuming trans porn ‘til the bright and early morn

Pinhead, pinhead, getting really pissed

Pinhead, pinhead, at the word “cis”

 

VERSE 4

I couldn’t speak Spanish to save my own life

But I know a few phrases, so I can get by

On your knees, pendejo, that’s a good puto

Pinhead, pinhead, besame kulo

Pinhead, pinhead, hired by the law

It was January 6^th when ICE gave them a job

Pinhead, pinhead, covering their face

Pinhead, pinhead, for the Master Race!

Stay Down

VERSE 1

Your childhood sucked, so your offspring must pay

Beat them with a belt to make sure they’re not gay

A piece of leather passed down from your father

You could throw that shit away, but why the hell bother?

Whip them, lash them, and verbally trash them

Their spirits and dreams, go ahead and smash them

When you’re taken away with cuffs around your wrists

You can tell the courtroom about the gripes on your list

 

PRE-CHORUS

Mr. Narcissist, next time you get pissed

Make sure the gun you put to your head doesn’t miss

 

CHORUS

Stay down! X4

 

VERSE 2

You hate your wife, because she ruined your life

That’s the story you tell on your way to hell

Too much nagging from her led you to a divorce

You’re so innocent, so you owe her, of course

You say the system’s rigged with a voice so big

But your dick’s so small and so are your balls

One last check in the form of alimony

Your bank account is dry, keep pissing and moaning

 

PRE-CHORUS

Mr. Wifebeater, Mr. Cheater, Mr. Geezer

Next time you keep a dead body in your freezer

Call your victim anything but a skeezer

It’s not a good look when you’re locked up and booked

 

CHORUS

Stay down! X4

 

BRIDGE

I’m sorry life didn’t turn out the way you wanted

I’m sorry you grew up with a mind so haunted

But my real sympathies lie with the ones you hurt

You didn’t have to do that, no more bodies in the dirt

Nobody walks away from this life unscathed

Doesn’t mean they need to feel even half of your pain

You could have broken the cycle, but you broke their bones

You broke their minds too, so forgiveness is a hard no

 

CHORUS

Stay down! X8

 

OUTRO

Lay down!

And stay down!

‘Cause if you get back up

You’ll get jacked up!

When It Happens to You

VERSE 1

You got the Thin Blue Line ‘til they vote Democrat

Now you storm the white house with a baseball bat

You called Benson a badass ‘til she voted for Harris

Now you spray paint on her house the word “terrist”

Your spelling sucks and so does your syntax

The King of England had a heart attack

But you speak like royalty when and only when

You bitch about the use of “they” and “them”

 

CHORUS

What can you do?

It’s only racist when it happens to you

What can you do?

It’s only sexist when it happens to you

 

VERSE 2

You fucked around and now you’re finding out

You lost your right to pout and scream and shout

You only know how to do it to yourself

And now you lost your insurance for health

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

What can you do?

It’s only racist when it happens to you

What can you do?

It’s only sexist when it happens to you

It’s only violent when it happens to you

They’re only bigots when they do it to you

You’re a victim of the system when it happens to you

 

VERSE 3

Even after all the shit you’ve seen

You lick those boots all nice and clean

Sucking up don’t mean a hill of beans

Ain’t got no green, so you’re on the wrong team

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

What can you do?

It’s only racist when it happens to you

What can you do?

It’s only sexist when it happens to you

It’s only violent when it happens to you

They’re only bigots when they do it to you

You’re a victim of the system when it happens to you

The Marsellus Wallace Speech: AEW Edition

 (OOC: I read a blog post today about how Marsellus Wallace's speech to Butch in Pulp Fiction can be applied to any relatable scenario, so I did a parody myself, just like the author did. Ready? Here we go:

We fade in on Bryan Danielson, a 44-year-old pro-wrestler who’s one broken neck away from being confined to a wheelchair. He sits across the table wearing a plain white T-shirt (because he doesn’t believe in consumerism). Sitting on the opposite side off screen is Tony Khan, the Head Honcho at All Elite Wrestling, where Bryan works. Tony sounds like a cross between a delusional billionaire and a giddy fanboy.

TONY (O.S.)

What do you think you’re gonna find when your decades-long career is over? I think you’re gonna find yourself one broken down, sad-ass motherfucker. The thing is, Bryan, you have a shitload of five-star matches. But as painful as it may seem, five-star matches won’t save your life, and yours is over the minute you take another bump. That’s a hard motherfucking fact of life, and it’s one your ass is gonna have to get realistic about. The wrestling business is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers who say they’re gonna retire but never do. Motherfuckers who thought their asses would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar like Ric Flair and Chris Jericho, it does. If you mean it gets better with age like R-Truth and Trish Stratus? It don’t. Besides, Bryan, how many five-star matches do you got left in you? Two? Wrestlers don’t have an Old-Timer’s League. It was called Heroes of Wrestling and it sucked ass. You came close, but you made it only a handful of times. If you were gonna make it again, you would have done it already. 

Tony holds release papers just out of Bryan’s reach.

TONY (O.S.)

You actually gonna retire this time?

BRYAN

Certainly appears so.

Bryan takes the release papers from Tony’s hand.

TONY

Night of your final retirement speech, you’re gonna feel a slight sting. That’s pride fucking with you. Fuck pride! Pride only hurts, probably about as bad as Jon Moxley suffocating you with a plastic bag. It never helps. You gotta fight through that shit. ‘Cause a year from now when you’re at home banging Brie Bella and hanging out with your two kids Birdie and Buddy, you’re gonna say to yourself, “Tony Khan was right”, which is something I hear from Dave Meltzer pretty much regularly. 

BRYAN

Yeah, me too.

TONY

At AEW Revolution, you job to Jon Moxley. Say it.

BRYAN

At AEW Revolution, I job to Jon Moxley.

The original blog post: https://www.kingdomoffailure.com/post/f-ck-pride-it-only-hurts-it-never-helps

Headline News

VERSE 1

Geek in a suit comes on the news at five

He’s probably wondering how we’re all alive

Read the teleprompter while on beta blockers

Lifeless interview gives you nothing new

Turn that shit off, what’re we watching for?

We should get overtime for staying informed

This is a movie that we’ve all seen before

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

VERSE 2

Roundtable at six sucking Israel’s dicks

Got a dose of depression, come get your fix

Gather over here while we fight fascism

But only with permission from upper management

Bomb this, bomb that, school shooter with a gat

Every one of them fuckers got a red MAGA hat

TV-MA for gratuitous gore

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

VERSE 3

It’s seven o’clock, get on your knees and pray

‘Cause we just made it through another long day

Go fight with your family, have a master debate

You don’t need verbal skills, you need mosquito spray

Dehumanized by the people you’re supposed to love

It’s love with conditions from the heavens above

Just another case of the poor fighting the poor

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

OUTRO

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

Fuck the positivity, they find it such a bore

Brain chemical addiction is your newfound chore

Like those Camels you smoke from the convenience store

A bottle of Jack to go with your pack

If you’re pissed off long enough, you can move on to crack

Healthy coping mechanisms are what you all lack

But when you need your rage bait, we’ll take your greenbacks

Vanilla ICE-Holes

Is that “ICE” on your vest? It should say “snowflake”

Surrender and comply? No way, Jose

Don’t worry about us pulling your mask off

Instead we’ll pull your pants off, force you to jack off

To Orange Hitler, on your knees, bootlicker

My trigger finger’s quick, so you better be quicker

Don’t half-ass the fash, go the whole nine yards

You do it long enough, you can play your race card

Forget the mask, we know you’re Vanilla ICE-Holes

You’re doing Pulp Fiction and the gimp is your role

Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp!

Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!

Slap you like a pimp for being a right-wing simp

Kick you in the dick ‘til it’s permanently limp

The age of drum circles is a thing of the past

Unless we play the drums on your stupid ball caps

With your head inside, now you can go and hide

Behind your daddy’s legs like a doggy who begs

Schoolyard bullies have more balls than you

Look in the mirror, it’s no one’s fault but you

You couldn’t cut it as the next John Rambo

Gassed out in five seconds while learning Sambo

If Sambo was easy, it’d be called White America

Chilling on your porch calling everybody terrorists

Shotgun in your hand, but you sawed it in half

You shoot prematurely, make your girlfriend laugh

Just kidding! You couldn’t be a Prom King either

You got no personality, you’re the new rag and ether

Putting us to sleep with your nothingburger status

So you pretend to be a badass ‘cause no girl would make passes

Without a few shots of whiskey in little glasses

Drop the Xanax in the drink, make her slip off to a dream

That’s your whole life in an itty-bitty nutshell

Your whole villain arc for why you pump the gun shells

Into innocent civilians, you do it by the millions

Call it “welfare cuts”, give your masters more trillions

You live by the sword, you die by the sword

‘Cause you got nowhere else to go except the psych ward

Fitness Guru

INTRO DIALOGUE

You’re not a fitness guru; you’re a eugenicist!

 

SATIRE POEM

I make my salary by burning all my calories

Showing off my ribs, telling fatphobic fibs

Juicing up my biceps, overworking triceps

Got some ten-pack abs, not pinch of flab

 

Why stop there? Let’s erase your autism

And your personality that you got with it

Sell stories about your expendability

Based on corporate greed and your disability

 

“Don’t even bother with the COVID vaccine”

Said the pin cushion who was a heroin fiend

You believe every word, just look at my face

Innocent like an angel from the “Master Race”

 

Take my advice, pay no mind to my voice

What disease do I have? It’s Dealer’s Choice

I never smoked a cigarette a day in my life

Still sounds like I wear a Columbian Necktie

 

I got more wrinkles than crumpled up paper

It started as a baby and I hoped it would taper

Started in the womb, wait, now I remember

I was totally alive then, like Jesus in December

 

Now I got a job fucking up my last name

Drag it through the mud, make it take a walk of shame

Black sheep doesn’t describe me at all

‘Cause if I lived on a farm, my voters would suck my balls

 

So next time you see me on the television

Listen loud and clear, ‘cause there is no intermission

No bathroom breaks even though I’m full of shit

Here’s my healthcare plan, it’s a total money pit

Government efficiency is kind of my jam

Effective at what? Making suckers fall for scams?

Fork over your dough as you die really slow

Make the oligarchy richer, fuck the Average Joe!

Pull a Knife

VERSE 1

Respect for authority, agree with the majority

Keep the peace, you should only be seen

And never heard, not a single word

Will come from your lips or they’ll rap the tips

Of your fingers with a ruler, you little grammar-schooler

Some rap the knuckles, either way your knees buckle

Stand up to injustice? Do that, you’ll get busted

Assume the position, it’s your life’s ambition

 

DIALOGUE

That all sounds well and good, but I’d rather…

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallet!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

 

VERSE 2

Words have failed, now your life has derailed

Now it’s punches and kicks, stones and sticks

Violence is the language of pain and anguish

Because the rules don’t apply to the suits and ties

The rules mean nothing when the shotgun’s pumping

Shells in the heads of the poor and underfed

It’s kill or be killed, I’ll die on this hill

It’s either you or them, who’d be better off dead?

 

DIALOGUE

I’d love to sing kumbaya with my killers, but I’d rather…

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallets!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

 

BRIDGE

Are they scared of the city? They made things shitty

Flooding the streets with guns and heat

Flooding the veins with heroin, cocaine

Cutting the funding, now the cops go hunting

Expect obedience? That shit’s so devious

Has the opposite effect of what it all meant

What’s the use? You got nothing left to lose

Nothing’s more dangerous than a bullet up their anus!

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallet!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

Do it like Robin Hood! Do it like Luigi!

Scrape their remains off the sidewalk with a squeegee!

They created a monster! Created a killer!

They debate all they want, but it’s background filler!

Pull a knife!

Pull a gun!

Pull a bazooka!

It’s the end of the world, let’s have some fun!

Metropolis of Mediocrity

VERSE 1

No hobbies for you, just the red, white, and blue

Say the Pledge of Allegiance ‘til Satan is defeated

Punch-down comedians in an idiot contest

Take Pink Floyd and George Carlin out of context

They say the seven words and still need an education

Egocentric minds trained to recognize one nation

The rest of the world is outside of the bubble

Cross the borderline and you’re in biblical trouble

 

CHORUS

Metropolis of mediocrity

Miles away from the bluest blue cities

Break free from the doomer mindset

The key to your chains costs the same as your rent

 

VERSE 2

Romantic dinner at Dairy Dan’s

Movie at Yardbirds, holding calloused hands

Those wounds tell the story of religious abuse

You could call 9-1-1, but it’s just old news

Bringing her baggage into your union of love

The eyes of her god are watching from above

Say the words “I do” on your wedding day

You’re too young for this shit, barely older than eight

 

CHORUS

Metropolis of mediocrity

Miles away from the bluest blue cities

Break free from the doomer mindset

The key to your chains costs the same as your rent

 

VERSE 3

A new city and a new abode

Finally free, but stuck in fight or flight mode

You ran from your trauma, but you kept the pain

Forever a prisoner of a malfunctioning brain

The new friends you make don’t last forever

They can’t help you with the ties you must sever

Create your own greatness, but they call it ego

Show vulnerability and they call you emo

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

Metropolis of mediocrity

Miles away from the bluest blue cities

Break free from the doomer mindset

The key to your chains costs the same as your rent

You can run all you want, but hiding’s not an option

The cycle ends here, because only you can stop it

Enough is enough is a mantra, not a cliché

The next generation learns from how you behave

 

OUTRO

You take your stories to the grave!

Those lessons make the children brave!

Let them learn their own worth!

Greatness is a gift from the day of their birth!

Try That in a Comedy Club

VERSE 1: CHEESY COMEDIAN

“Rabbits going back is a receding hare line

That chick’s a parking ticket, ‘cause damn, she’s fine

There’s only one way to catch a unique rabbit

Unique up on it, gob-less the sabbath

I did a line of coke and I wrote down the joke

Rolled a joint full of green and I gave it a smoke

I can make a lot of pennies off the number 420

And the number 69, yo, I got to get mine”

 

CHORUS 1

Try that in a comedy club

You can go to the Apollo, but you’ll get no love

You can call it cancel culture, but I call it fate

Maybe there’s a reason why you get all the hate

 

VERSE 2: EDGY COMEDIAN

“I like to slap bitches, I like to slap hoes

Take a pair of brass knucks across her perfect nose

I identify as the guy who pulls out a knife

Carves the N-word on your head, watch that shit bleed red

You can’t cancel me, ‘cause I’ve got all the money

I’m the only one who decides what’s funny

Not my audience or the world wide web

I’ll be triggering you all ‘til the day I’m dead”

 

CHORUS 1

Try that in a comedy club

You can go to the Apollo, but you’ll get no love

You can call it cancel culture, but I call it fate

Maybe there’s a reason why you get all the hate

 

VERSE 3: ME

You could never measure up to George Carlin’s legend

You say you speak the truth, but he’s the only one who said it

Context is important, but to you it doesn’t matter

‘Cause a list of racial slurs is your ticket to laughter

If a million people laugh, then that’s a million idiots

If a million defend you, then that’s a million hypocrites

At your own funeral, you ain’t an unexpected guest

But nobody showed up to lay your ass to rest

 

CHORUS 2

Try that in the Hall of Fame

All you mediocre men sound about the same

You’d never laugh at a woman on stage

Unless of course she shared your bigoted rage

Try that at the Kennedy Center

Even if you blew the owner, he wouldn’t let you enter

Try that on your Nazi bird app

You’re not triggering the libs, ‘cause no one gives a crap

 

OUTRO: REAL COMEDIAN

“Of course Elon Musk likes to call Twitter X. He’s racked up a lot of exes, because he couldn’t give them O’s on his best day.”

(Audience laughter)

Selling Your Soul

VERSE 1

You sold your soul for some paper and metal

Digital transactions from lawsuits you settled

All you have left is a mediocre shell

And a special seat for you waiting in hell

Your spirit was once so colorful and bright

Before you fell off hard after turning right

Your road to heaven was paved with blood

Your so-called “truth bombs” were only duds

 

VERSE 2

When I give my soul to the left

I get a return on what I invest

The stories of underdogs just like myself

Told in the form of books on my shelf

Songs, art, movies, and more

Keep me from becoming a bootlicking whore

I grew and matured, I learned from the best

Who cares about results on a standardized test?

 

VERSE 3

Crushing dreams is what keeps you alive

Heaven forbid that creativity thrives

They should sell their souls for a pizza party

In a corporate office packed like sardines

Into cubicles more like trash compactors

That’s how you see them, they suppress detractors

Power corrupts, it’s an insatiable hunger

Feed the addiction while the artists suffer

 

VERSE 4

Why hire meat sacks when robots are cheaper?

Why use your brain when your pockets are deeper?

Why relate to another human being?

When outer beauty is all that you’re seeing?

Beauty fades and so does common sense

Those who enable you are not your friends

They carry knives in search of a back

Slip up just a little and they’re on the attack

They run away with your big money sack

Another soulless wonder, you’re left with jack

“Capitalism breeds innovation” they say

Yet it’s the same old shit every damn day

Black Tar Kiss, Chapter 2

“Hey yo, Scar Tissue, I’ve got a question for you, buddy. What exactly does Me Encanta Femicidio mean?”

 

“I love killing women.”

 

“I know, but what does that sentence mean?”

 

This was pretty much a normal conversation that someone could have with White Snake. Normal by his standards, not normal by decent human being standards. Most people have at least some of their marbles rolling around in their heads. He doesn’t have a goddamn thing in there, not even a pebble. He laughed at his own joke while Scar Tissue gave a satisfied little smirk. Me? I was probably staring holes through our beloved gang leader, but ain’t nobody called me out on it.

 

The three of us got out of the car and surveyed the situation before us. Battleground Park used to be this beautiful forest full of life and greenness. Squirrels running around with nuts in their mouths, sometimes bulging their cheeks out. Birds chirping away and singing better than most auto-tuned pop stars could ever dream of. Hell, you might see a deer pitter-pattering up to a creek to get himself a little somethin’-somethin’ to cool his throat and quench his thirst. Nature photographers would never long for employment in a place like that. But like I said, it USED to be this way.

 

Instead of oak trees that looked like nature’s hard-ons, it was just dirt, grass, some picnic tables with vulgar nonsense spraypainted on them, and some port-a-potties that smelled like they were bursting at the seams with dead bodies, which was probably why they called it Battleground Park, ‘cause that’s where all the corpses typically were.

 

And speaking of people who hadn’t seen a shower since the Nixon Administration, there they were in numbers that grossly outmatched the three of us: Me Encanta Femicidio. Not one Latino among them, or at least anyone with half an appreciation of the culture. Just a bunch of out-of-shape white dudes with whole-ass forests under their chins, like what Battleground Park used to be. Heavy metal T-shirts with the sleeves cut off so that the rest of us could get a good whiff of their goopy armpits. Black jorts, blue jorts, tan cargos, anything at all as long as we could see their tarantula-like legs, even though there were only two of them on their bodies. There they were hooting and hollering like idiots, pouring beers down their throats, sucking down cigars that somehow stank worse than they did, and bending a little cheerleader chick over one of the picnic tables before pulling her skirt up and spanking her red with their meaty paws. SPANK, SPANK! “Naughty girl!” SPANK, SPANK, SPANK! “Bad, bad girl!”

 

The more I listened to that baby girl cry her guts out hoping some invisible dude in the sky would hear her, the more I wondered why White Snake and Scar Tissue were just standing in front of the corvette with their arms folded. Discussing strategy, maybe? Yeah, I was kind of curious about the strategy myself. My fists and jaw were clamping down tight as I watched those hayseeds spank that cheerleader. If I ever needed a blood test done, I now know where my arm vein is, to hell with the tourniquet. Maybe I could have used some dental work, too, if I clenched my teeth any longer than I did.

 

I stomped up to the trunk and popped the sucker open, hoping for some weapons. Some CD’s, some T-shirts and jeans, some candy bars, an old vinyl record of Dark Side of the Moon, but not a weapon in sight, although I’ve thought about shoving candy down Me Encanta Femicidio’s throats and triggering a mass diabetic coma. I shook my head in disbelief and slammed the trunk down. “White Snake! We got a situation over here!”

 

He barely turned his head to look at me, forgetting that eye contact was supposed to be a thing. “What kind of a situation?”

 

“Well, I was just checking out this here trunk and, uh…no weapons. No guns, no knives, no brass knucks, not even a little sewing needle. How the hell are we supposed to fight that many douche-canoes if we ain’t packing heat?”

 

“Ah, don’t you fret, little Doggie Meat. I got all the heat you could ever want right here. Come on over. Get a piece.” He pulled something out of a little tin and started chewing on it. He sprinkled some in Scar Tissue’s hands and he was munching like no tomorrow, smacking his lips, too.

 

I strolled up there to see what it was. “Chewing tobacco? This is your secret weapon? We’re gonna get our asses handed to us! Besides, aren’t you worried about jaw cancer?”

 

“Cancer?” White Snake blew some air out of his nose. “Feminism is the only cancer you’ve got to worry about.” Classy. “This ain’t chewing tobacco. We just need the cops to think it’s chewing tobacco. Ever wonder why we call ourselves Black Tar Kiss?”

 

“Because the initials are BTK and you’re an edge-lord?” Scar Tissue chuckled at my joke and then quickly shut up once White Snake gave him a little glare.

 

White Snake turned his attention back to me. “Well, that’s certainly one explanation. Of course, the other one would be, this here black tar ain’t just any old chew. It’s Black Pills.”

 

“I’m sorry, Black Pills?”

 

“Yeah, man, Black Pills. They ain’t just an analogy from a stupid movie written by transgender-sexuals. These suckers are real. I told y’all that we’re the ugliest sons of bitches to walk the earth. Now these Black Pills are gonna prove my point. Chicks ain’t gonna resist us now, because…well…they ain’t got a say in the matter!” My stomach bubbled listening to that. “Come on, Dogmeat, have some.”

 

“Nah, man, I’m good.”

 

“Dude…you said it yourself. We ain’t packing heat in the trunk. No guns, no knives, nothin’ like that. You want to beat these guys or what? Why should they get all the cheerleader chicks? Three of us and god knows how many of them. These Black Pills will even the odds in our favor. Or you can get your ass stomped into the ground, that’s always an option, if not by those chuds, then by me. What’s it gonna be, kid?”

 

I stood there furrowing my brows at White Snake. He probably could have kicked my ass on any given day, but I had a mind of at least trying to kick his, even if I would have gotten ambulanced away.

 

I can’t freakin’ believe I’m saying this, but…Scar Tissue was the voice of reason. “Come on, essa, have some! You think I’m gonna let these putos run around here speakin’ my language? They don’t know a damn word. They’re just tryin’ to be cool. Yeah, they cool, alright. They’re so cool we should call them…Los Kulos!”

 

I did know what Los Kulos meant and that put a smile on my face. “Okay, let me have some.” Who knew positive reinforcement could be so convincing? Scar Tissue gave me a pinch of chew and I started chomping up and down on it. “Tastes like beef jerky!”

 

“I know, right? Now let’s settle this beef, essa! Viva la Raza!” Scar Tissue rapidly drummed his palms on the hood of the car to get psyched up. Even when he was fooling around, he looked like a goddamn rock star pounding those drums. Again, why was he hanging out with us instead of opening for Mudvayne?

 

Any euphoria I had watching Scar Tissue be a little bit like his old self was blown away by the shrill sound of White Snake whistling at the rival gang. He got all their attentions. The cheerleader got her bright red ass out of dodge, running and sobbing like she was a victim of domestic violence at the hands of a creepy uncle. She lost one of her white sneakers, but there were more pressing matters, obviously.

 

“Greetings, ladies and Germans! Just kidding, none of you have any balls tonight! I got one question for your chronically online Reddit chuds! This place used to be a forest, so I figured I’d ask a little philosophical question. Would y’all rather be stuck in the woods with a man…or a ssssssssssssssnake?!”

 

On a normal day, that would be the cheesiest thing to ever come out of White Snake’s mouth. But considering that a forked tongue was actually what came out of it, we all had the right to be a little worried. Them meatheads on the other side of the battlefield started dripping from their pits and foreheads something fierce, even though we weren’t packing any heat. After all, why would we need heat…when White Snake started to transform…into a big-ass white snake?! His skin turned all scaly and stuff. He grew some fangs that would give any dentist PTSD. He grew this long-ass body that would give snake-haters instant schizophrenia. His fingers shot out these pointy-ass claws that looked more frightening than his ugly-ass fangs. And wouldn’t you know it, this guy was freakin’ huge! He must have gained a whole foot just to look like this big ol’ monster snake with his tail coiled around him.

 

Scar Tissue, bless his soul, he didn’t do any favors in the racing hearts department. He too gained about a whole foot. His whole body turned into this big ol’ river of blood with these slimy, gross, scaly tentacles shooting out of every which way. He grew some razor-sharp claws too, but I would hazard a guess that the little fanged mouths on the end of his tentacles were even more heart attack-inducing. At this point, I’d be surprised if that was the only river of blood I saw that night. I swear to god, my incel homies were transforming into their namesakes right in front of me.

 

…Which made me wonder what the hell I looked like, being that my name was Dogmeat and all. I grew some field of hair all over my legs and arms. I had a Gandalf beard that looked like it hadn’t been cut since the date that story took place. My nose and mouth shot out a few inches and I was afraid to bite my own tongue and draw some serious blood. I had to take a quick peek in one of the side mirrors to see what I looked like. Well, it started out as a quick peek. It ended up lasting a hell of a lot longer than that. I looked into the mirror and saw an absolute goddamn monster from the depths of hell. Werewolf body, clown face with pale white and all, and even a blood-red wolf nose to complete the motif.

 

If my momma saw this side of me, she’d go right back to the needles and cocaine. If my dad saw me like this, he’d go from screaming to crying his eyes out in short order, probably muttering something about disappointing him and him not recognizing his own son anymore. I didn’t recognize me anymore. The Black Pill philosophy was true all along. I WAS the ugliest freak walking the earth. No girl would be caught dead with her hand in mine…unless of course she actually was dead. Forget make-out sessions, because that’s one of the ways in which she could die. My bloodshot eyes bulged like I was ready for battle, but I was just waiting forever for some salty discharge to drop. Manly men didn’t do that mess, but I didn’t want to be a manly man anymore. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be a baby suckling my momma’s tits. I wanted my dad to be proud of the boy he raised. How could anybody be proud of me outside of my gang circle?

 

There was a whole-ass battle going on over yonder, but I stared into the mirror waiting to cry my eyes out. The tears never came. There was some screaming and smashing noises going on in the background, but I didn’t watch what was going on. I assumed my guys were winning. How could they lose when they looked like that? Sure, they wouldn’t lose their virginities, but at least they wouldn’t lose a gang fight against a bunch of mediocre nobodies. What was this all for?! Why were we doing this to each other?! The answer smacked me right in the temple.

 

Nah, man, I’m serious! One of them chuds tossed a brick at me and opened up a gash real’ bad. My eyes weren’t leaking, but that wound sure was. I took another look in the mirror after I picked my head up…and I was bleeding like a goddamn fire hydrant. Them chuds started laughing their wobbly asses off…so I laughed along with them. And the more I laughed, the more cartoonishly insane I sounded. I rubbed the blood all over my face and laughed like a damn lunatic. I didn’t have to worry about no consequences, because who would put a straightjacket on my hideous body?

 

I got this sick serial killer smile on my face as I turned to look at the weirdoes who did this to me. They weren’t shaking like an electric massager they wished they could have used on that cheerleader, but they were damn close. I showed all my bloody teeth at them, I gave them this big ol’ murder grin, and I laughed like I was a shoe-in for a 51/50 order. Those porkers started sweatin’ like the pigs they were. They started shaking in their little Nikes. And then they got some serious goddamn exercise by running in the other direction. I ran after them and made some booga-booga noises just for extra effect. These pukes had never ran a marathon a day in their lives, until they met Dogmeat. I let them go after a while. And once they were out of sight, I gazed up at the moon and howled. “AWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

After that little war cry, I took a look back on the battlefield where the remnants of Me Encanta Femicidio were trying their damnedest to fight the good fight. Punches, kicks, even the occasional headbutt. White Snake snatched up one of them with his tail and asked another one of his philosophical questions. “Would your rather tell your feelings to a woman…or a TREE?!” Once White Snake was within range of one of the last remaining oaks, he slammed that kid against the tree and he went down clutching his spine and screaming in pain. Not gonna lie, that looked pretty badass.

 

“Scar Tissue, look out!” That’d be me warning him about some sneaky prick wielding a bass guitar. The kid had designs of smashing it over Scar Tissue’s head, but thanks to my warning, he turned around and snatched that thing out of the chud’s hands. That dude knew he was screwed, yet he could just stand there and tremble while Scar Tissue…played a tune? Was he actually playing the bass intro to “Disciple” by The Warning? Did he really kneel down like he was channeling that Alejandra chick? Was this guy seriously having a little fun on the battlefield? Well, he did until White Snake condescendingly cleared his throat. Scar Tissue sighed before smashing that bass right over the kid’s head. He plopped over on the ground, his cheeks bouncing on the grass. He was out cold as White Snake’s ugly heart.

 

And wouldn’t you know it, that battlefield was littered with big dudes groaning and moaning in pain. They weren’t dead by a longshot, but they probably wished they were, judging from how they writhed around clutching their wounds. The torture was still going on long after the fight was over and the three of us were standing tall. And just like that, the effects of the Black Pills wore off and we shrank down to our human selves. I had no idea the effects were temporary. I had no idea any of this was happening tonight. I got a little jolt of energy from that fight, even though I didn’t throw a single punch or kick. I was grinning from ear to ear. Scar Tissue and White Snake were high-fiving the hell out of each other. Scar Tissue went on a fire-spewing Espanol rant like only he could and literally not anyone from Me Encanta Femicidio, those absolute men of culture.

 

Scar Tissue bounced around excited, whooped, cheered, cursed in Spanish…and then there was White Snake, staring at me like I just made a yo momma joke about him. Scar Tissue realized what the hell was going on and went silent in no time at all. I had to ask White Snake. “What’s up?”

 

“What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. See all these bitches groaning in agony? They’re all over the place. They’re crawling around our feet like a bunch of bums. And now look at your feet. Ain’t nobody crawling around you. What the hell were you doing this whole time?”

 

I let out a nervous laugh. “White Snake, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. These morons got scared in their boots and ran for the hills the minute they saw me. You’re right! We’re ugly as hell! Ain’t nobody gonna dispute that!”

 

“You hear that, boss man? He scared them off!”

 

“Shut up, Scar Tissue.” Poor dude went quiet again. White Snake started marching up to me like he had another battle on his mind. I backed up little by little as he got closer. “Dogmeat, there ain’t nothing I hate more than a liar. I expect that mess out of a feminazi on X, but not you, bud. You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you? You ain’t down with us no more? Spit it out!”

 

“I swear, dude, it ain’t like that! I’m down for life!” I backed up a little faster this time, but I took one step too many and completely forgot that there was a hill right behind me. I made like Limp Bizkit and kept rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ rollin’. Thank god there weren’t any hard rocks in the way, but them sharp twigs poking in my skin weren’t much fun. I could have done without the dizziness swirling around my head like toilet water, probably the same water that them port-a-potties used. I could have puked up a bigger mess than what Scar Tissue’s body turned into when he chewed them Black Pills.

 

I hit the bottom of that grassy hill and the world spun like a damn carousel. I thought I was gonna float off into outer space. I thought the ground was the ceiling for a minute there. Took a while to get my bearings straight. When I did, I crawled on my scraped-up hands and knees, little stabs of pain along the way. And then I see a pair of leather high heeled ankle boots…accompanied by the flipping open of a police badge and a woman’s voice, probably a woman who didn’t take too kindly to the Black Pilled folk.

 

“Detective Jeri Lodge, Bull Rope PD. You and I are going to have a little chat, my boy.”

 

She’s right. We did have a chat. And what better way to start a conversation than by dropping my face to the ground and cursing under my breath? Saved by the goddamn cops…lord, help me…