Samuel L. Jackson vs. The Lolita Express

 

Get Me Out of Here

I drink my nectarine juice with no BPAs

The plane’s exhaust fumes shit on the EPA

Babies are crying and cracking my skull

Drunken lunatic tries to give the latch a pull

Horny ass couples suck on faces and tits

Flight attendants’ short fuses are blown to bits

The Air Marshal fell asleep on the job

Get me out of here, I’m ready to sob

I’ll swan dive to the streets of London

Or to France for some Paris lovin’

Parachute to the beaches of Mexico

Pancake on the deserts of Texas, NO!

Anywhere is better than the airplane

Even hell starts to sound a little bit tame

The high winds will cut me to shreds

At least I’ll have my own graveyard bed

I’ll take matters into my own hands

If this plane doesn’t want to fucking land

Chuck the dipshits out of the airlock

Drag them by their greasy coach hair locks

One by one the angels fly to heaven

Or they splat at the seven-eleven

Or they’re floating on the whale road

Silence has become their only code

Oh, my word, I’ve become a flight risk

Pain in the neck like a broken cervical disk

TSA might have to pat my ass down

I’ll leave a present, something warm and brown

They say I might cause another nine-eleven

I can’t even fly a seven-forty-seven

But if it helps them sleep at night

Keep my prison cell locked up tight

Low Bar

You’re still nicer than a murderer in prison

You’re still tougher than a newborn kitten

You’re still smarter than dirty toilet paper

Still more put-together than a meth taker

Still wiser than a screaming kid on a plane

You’re still a better brother than Cain

You’re still a better writer than E.L. James

Still more tolerable than hemorrhoid pain

Still more beautiful than a razor-fanged demon

Still more innocent than a pedophile’s semen

Still healthier than grandpa on his deathbed

Still less ironic than a rapist going to heaven

Still younger than the corpse of Cleopatra

Don’t let these low bars become a distraction

You wanted some good news for once

This is all I’ve got and it was what it was

I’m sorry the universe is working against you

I should say that for the whole earth too

We’re all in this together, are you in or out?

If you do nothing, there’s no reason to shout

Bad days will come and go like everything else

If you’re up for it, let’s storm the gates of hell

Good news won’t come unless we make it so

This opportunity is yours to claim or to blow

Flight Plan

MOVIE TITLE: Flight Plan

DIRECTOR: Robert Schwentke

YEAR: 2005

GENRE: Mystery Thriller

RATING: PG-13 for language and violence

GRADE: Pass

Kyle Pratt and her six-year-old daughter Julia are flying from Berlin to New York City with Kyle’s dead husband stowed away in a coffin underneath the plane. Kyle takes a short nap and awakens to find her daughter missing. She goes around the plane asking everybody where she is and nobody can give her an answer. Upon further inspection, Julia Pratt was never even on the flight manifest. Kyle’s search becomes more frantic and her anger has the other passengers worried about their own safety. Has the grief of her husband made her delusional or is there a bigger conspiracy at work here? Nobody has these answers for Kyle because nobody onboard cares about her.

The mark of any good mystery is being able to keep the audience guessing until the climax. I kept watching because I genuinely wanted to know what on earth happened to Julia. There was even a time when I bought into the theory that Kyle was delusional. This is cinematic gas-lighting at its finest and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. While I won’t reveal Kyle and Julia’s fates, I will say that the movie’s harshest criticisms are misplaced. Some say the plot is over-the-top or confusing, but I don’t agree with that at all. Everything is perfectly clear by the story’s ending. A little cheesy at times, but clear nonetheless. Maybe the critics need to watch it multiple times in order to piece everything together, but the pieces are there and no stone is left unturned.

The one thing I agree with critics on is that the acting is superb no matter which character is being portrayed. Kyle Pratt is a convincing mother who just wants the best for her daughter. Whether it’s the tender moments they have together or the mother’s near psychotic search for Julia, Jodie Foster was perfect for the role and I wouldn’t want anybody else playing Kyle. Even the whiny passengers who kept getting on each other’s nerves had me convinced this was real whether it was kids slapping each other, parents wanting peace and quiet, or xenophobic Americans getting in scuffles with Arab passengers.

The one controversy I need to address as far as acting goes, however, is the portrayal of the flight crew. Apparently, their “rude and uncaring” attitudes painted actual fight attendants in a negative light. I personally don’t see this as a blanket statement. I see it as an intricate part of this well-crafted mystery. Everybody is supposed to be against Kyle Pratt because they think she’s crazy. Why should the flight crew be any different than the passengers who clapped for her getting handcuffed by the air marshal? While Kyle’s anger is well-placed, if taken out of context, it would be annoying to a bunch of passengers who’ve been on the plane for north of six hours. I’ve been on irritating flights before and I was seething deep inside, just like any rational person would be. Don’t look for controversy where there is none. We’re all human and we all get angry.

The movie received mixed reviews from critics, but I happened to find Flight Plan to my liking. I went into the movie expecting to be on the edge of my seat and that’s exactly what happened. Sure, Flight Plan isn’t anything mind-blowing or overly-philosophical, but it doesn’t have to be. Not every cinematic masterpiece has to be deep and profound. Sometimes it’s just meant to be enjoyed. Flight Plan gets a passing grade from little old me.

Things That Scare Me

***THINGS THAT SCARE ME***

It seems as though you can’t go anywhere on the internet without seeing inspirational memes telling you to “do what scares you”. I’m not talking about overcoming phobias like spiders and snakes. I’m not talking about watching the scene in Tales From the Hood where they stick straws up Crazy K’s nose. I’m not even talking about the idea of being flirted with by the demon chick Lucy Butler from Millennium. I’m talking about bigger fears than that. I’m talking about the little things in life that everyone else takes for granted. Since I spent most of my day zombie-walking around and watching WWE Raw, I figured I’d salvage the early dark of morning by writing a blog entry about what scares me more than having a bucket of tarantulas poured over my head. Starting with…

***MARKETING MY BOOKS***

Since I love to write so much, it should stand to reason that I’d want to commit to this career full time, which entails marketing the shit out of my books. But to hear other authors describe how much they have to do, you’d swear they were having a 24/7 root canal. I must confess that I’m only dimly aware of what marketers go through on a day-to-day basis. Being social media savvy, dealing with trolls, giving interviews, and being away from your family are only some of the responsibilities I’ve heard. At least two of those things scare me more than the rest, and I don’t even know what the other steps are. They say “treat this like a real job”. Well, I’ve had a writing job before and it lasted less than a full day. During that internet job, I was so fucking stressed out that I snapped at my family members while wrapping my head around how to write one stupid article about my Coby MP3 player. So many rules…so much shattered creativity…Is it any wonder that I went postal? What if the actual job of marketing makes me even angrier with the people I love? What if it makes me angry at total strangers? Ugh…

***SCHIZOPHRENIC ATTACKS***

Speaking of stress, have you ever wondered why I don’t write blog entries about my schizophrenia anymore? It’s because from 2015 on, I’ve been living a stress-free life. The less stress a schizophrenic has, the less likely he is to experience hallucinations. Being stress-free is important no matter what Penn & Teller say on Showtime. It’s part of the reason why schizophrenics qualify for social security. If they had stressful employment, they’d fall to pieces within seconds. It’s not about being a “snowflake”. It’s biology. It’s psychology. It’s natural fucking brain chemistry. If you feel uncomfortable at the idea of your tax dollars paying for a schizophrenic’s living expenses, maybe YOU’RE the one who needs to have your head examined. When a schizophrenic experiences hallucinations, you don’t know when those hallucinations are going away. Sometimes they go on for days. Sometimes they go on for weeks. Months. Half a year. There’s no timetable for recovery. And in case you’ve ever wondered why I write so many angry songs and stories, it’s because schizophrenics are easily irritated. I throw screaming fits whenever the phone rings or someone’s knocking at the door. Brain chemistry, people.

***LEAVING MY COMFORT ZONE***

They say the comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. So what happens when you venture outside the comfort zone and you fall on your ass? Do you still grow? Was the lesson worth the pain? Will the hallucinations come more frequently because of your colossal failure? Is coasting the answer? I asked an old college friend about this and her advice was to leave my comfort zone a little bit at a time. Don’t rush into making big decisions. Take time t think about it and edge slowly towards the outer reaches. While that sounds like great advice to a healthy-minded person, I on the other hand have no idea what slowly testing the waters would entail. Okay, so I leave my comfort zone and market my books. Then what? Do I join one new social media site at a time? Do I film one You Tube video and allow it to be complete shit? What is it? Maybe if I had a mentor to show me the way…

***TALKING TO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN***

As I write this next paragraph, I’m going to try my best not to sound like a desperate creep. That’s not who I am. In fact, the reason I stay away from women to begin with is because I DON’T like making them feel uncomfortable. Even saying hi to someone might be enough to make them turn the other way. Maybe it’s my lack of social skills. Maybe it’s my looks. Maybe it’s my economic status. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not what women want. Having my actions rejected in a harsh manner would hurt much more than staying in the shadows and being my shy self. It might even result in a…I don’t know….schizophrenic attack! (Gasp) It’s true! I could be so embarrassed and humiliated at rejection that my hallucinations laugh at me for three months straight. Good god almighty…

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

I mentioned shooting You Tube videos earlier in this blog. Well, that would mean having an audience. Even though the audience isn’t right there in front of me, knowing the judging eyes are watching me is frightening to me. Sometimes when I’d give presentations in school or college, I’d stumble over my words because I was too fucking nervous. Well, I think I’ve come up with a nice gimmick that will set the record straight. Before any public presentation, I will hold out my hand, place two Xanax tablets in them, say to my audience, “You’re making me do this!”, and then swallow them with Perrier. This is what it takes for me to feel comfortable around these people. It’s about time they feel the way that I feel every time I get up there. Yeah!

***CRYING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE***

If you’ve read my first draft novel Beautiful Monster or Jenna Moreci’s fully-published book The Savior’s Champion, you know how powerful of a gesture it is to be able to show weakness in front of another person. It’s a sign of trust. It’s a sign of love. But being vulnerable in front of others is yet another thing that scares me. What if after the crying spell is over they want to talk about the incident some more? What if during these new conversations…you guessed it, a schizophrenic attack happens? Talking about bad shit doesn’t make a schizophrenic feel better. It makes him feel worse. I haven’t cried since 2007. Don’t make me break my record. Please?

***BEING AROUND AGGRESSIVE PEOPLE***

When I say aggressive people, I don’t mean psychopaths who wield knives and punch people in the face. I’m talking about socially aggressive people. The loud ones. The crazy ones. The ones who invade your space and think nothing of it (even if they’re trying to be “friendly”). These people annoy me. They also scare me. I had to sit next to a drunken moron at Pain in the Grass 2016 and he fit this bill to a fault. I was secretly hoping security would arrest him for public intoxication, but I’m not aware of his fate at this moment. And then there was a guy who walked into Quizno’s bragging loudly and vulgarly about how he was going to get a sandwich with all these certain trimmings on it after a hard day of work. Shut the fuck up! Take your sandwich and fuck off! And don’t get me started on the drunken Seahawks fans I had to ride a night train with in 2008. I could have strangled every last one of them with my massive hands. Lesson of the day: be humble or fuck off!

***TRAVELING***

Ever since I took a “vacation” in 2009 to Pennsylvania, I’ve had this fear of traveling because of all the things that could go wrong. What if my airplane ride has a drunken lunatic or a loud baby onboard? What if I forget my medicine? What if I have to sit for six hours straight and have a painful ass and spine afterwards? As much as I love my international friends, there’s no way I’m getting on an airplane for god knows how long just to see them. There better be soft beds and soundproof booths on that flight or there’s no deal. Traveling wouldn’t be so bad if I could just teleport from place to place, but that’ll never happen, because we’re too busy building our own Space Force. Ugh….

***CONCLUSION***

So basically what all of these fears boil down to is that I need to take good care of my schizophrenic/autistic brain. I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs. And most importantly, I don’t do stressful shit that could send me down a dark path. Is it wrong? Is it right? Does it even matter? Is coasting the answer? Am I eventually going to have to be forced into making these big decisions in my life? I could be screaming into the abyss here, but…I’m going to keep asking these questions for as long as I have to. I’m Garrison Kelly and…fuck it.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sick and tired of living with this grief. Done with all the sorrow and the pain. Asphyxiated, can no longer breathe. Anesthetized until I’ve gone insane. So carry all this baggage when you leave. Swallow all those bitter pills you take. Blame it on the world, blame it on me. Tolerated too much of your game. A change of weather comes around too much. A sign of a deeper cut. Lying dormant on a bed of nails. Without warning, violently erupt. So bleed the molten river from my veins. Collapse upon myself, disintegrate. Shame upon the world and shame on me. Hate the player, but don’t hate the game. So condescend and patronize my lead. Persecute the innocent again. Rain down on the world and rain on me. Ticking like a bomb that’s got your name. Temperamental, unpredictable. The sky turns black when I exhale.”

-Death Angel singing “Volcanic”-

Air Pain

Six hours of nonstop ass torture was in store for everyone aboard the airline flight to Paulson City. Knees cracked as passengers stood up to use the bathroom. Spinal bones shifted every which way. Neck and hip pain flared out of control. Getting even a few seconds of sleep in the upright position would have been a bigger miracle than turning water into wine. Yet even in shackles and a scratchy orange jumpsuit, Zack Scott managed to drift away with the snoring power of a small kitten. He even had shaggy hair like a small animal, but was nowhere near as cute and cuddly.

For the first time in ten years, Zack could taste the heavenly flavor of chocolate covered waffles covered in maple syrup and mile high whipped cream. A far cry from the worm-infested “meals” at his old prison, Zack mauled that plate of waffles like a grizzly bear and demanded seconds like a king sitting on his throne. And he got his seconds…and thirds…and fourths…and fifths…and…

“I want some fucking beer!” shouted a grating voice that jolted Zack Scott awake. The sudden transition between divine sleep and cold reality caused him to smack his head against his seat cushion. He’d rub his head in agony, but his wrists were chained to the seat, so all he could do to voice his displeasure was let out a minor groan.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gilbertson,” said the blond haired flight attendant. “You’ve had enough alcohol for this trip, so I can’t serve you more.”

“This is bullshit!” blared the suit-and-tie wearing drunk. “I paid good money for this flight and I deserve some fucking booze! I had a bad week of doing something called hard work! Now give me that beer before I rip it out of your fucking hands!”

“Hey, retard!” blasted Zack from the back of the airplane. “Shut your pie hole and let the rest of us get some goddamn sleep!”

“It’s a free country!” yelled Gilbertson. “I worked all week so that welfare kings like you could just sit on your fucking couch watching Netflix! All I want is a goddamn beer! Is that too much to ask or do you want any more of my hard-earned paycheck?!”

“Settle down, Mr. Scott,” said Detective Tony Battles, Zack’s trench coat-wearing handler. “Let the Air Marshal take care of this piece of shit. You just concentrate on getting some shut-eye. We’re not going to be in Paulson City for another five hours.”

Even with the drunken idiot and the flight attendant bantering loudly in the background, Zack and Tony still managed to carry on a hushed conversation between the two of them. Zack said, “How do you expect me to get any sleep around here if this horse’s ass just keeps going on like this? The Air Marshal is fucking worthless!”

“Welcome to the world of air travel, buddy,” said Tony as he patted Zack on the shoulder. “I know you’ve been locked up for a good decade or so, but things have changed around here, in case that security checkpoint bullshit wasn’t enough of an indication.”

“Just let me out of these shackles for five minutes,” begged Zack. “Hell, I could probably bring that loser down in less time than that.”

“I know you can, Zack,” said Tony. “Why do you think you’re in shackles to begin with? You beat the shit out of someone because he cut you off in traffic. His face was pretty much nonexistent at that point. You really think I’m going to just let you out of your shackles like that? Don’t be a dumb ass.”

A hard thwack echoed throughout the airplane and everybody’s wide eyes zeroed in on the downed flight attendant holding her bright pink cheek while the man known as Gilbertson cussed her out in a cacophony of slurred vocabulary.

“You stay put, buddy,” said Tony as he patted Zack on the shoulder and left his seat to confront the drunken passenger.

“Like I have a choice, huh?” smart-mouthed Zack, who struggled in his shackles despite the tightness cutting into his limbs. He was too laser-focused on this task to pay any mind to the struggle going on between Detective Battles and the drunken moron. The strikes, gasps, and wrestling in the background was all just noise to Zack Scott.

Somewhere in his soul, he knew he would screw up his plea deal by breaking free from Tony’s grasp. He knew that the only way he could taste those chocolate waffles again (aside from in his dreams) was to be on his best behavior and let the law take over. His starving taste buds didn’t take nearly as much damage as his pulsating eardrums, however. Every growl and slurred word from the drunken passenger caused Zack’s mind to explode with madness. This was worse than being in solitary confinement. It was worse than getting his ass kicked by the CO’s and prisoners. Freedom was so close, yet so far away, dangling over him like a juicy steak in front of a hungry pit bull.

Gilbertson’s rage fueled Zack’s intense struggle to the point where the prisoner accidentally elbowed Tony’s magazine off of his seat and revealed a shackle key underneath. The convict’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. Now his mind really was fucking with him. Was this a loud and obnoxious airplane ride or a stint in the hole? He reached at the key while the shackles cut into his wrists deeply enough to draw blood. The slick fluid gave Zack a few more inches toward the key. And a few more. And a few more. He got it!

Zack wasted little time in unlocking his shackles. With one hand, he eased the key into the lock and twisted hard enough to draw more blood. One more twist and his left arm was free. The rest was just child’s play at this point. He twisted the key so hard in each lock that he was almost in danger of breaking it off. His final restraint was the one binding his right ankle to the seat. He twisted again and this time the key snapped in two.

“Damn it!” Zack shouted. “God fucking damn it!” His thunderous voice had usurped Gilbertson’s and the fearful passengers as being the loudest. The prisoner kicked and stomped within the confines of his singular shackle until it broke off and he was finally free. He wasn’t thinking about delicious breakfast items this time. He had a mindful of insane voices shouting death threats in his ear. His vision was dark red. The blood on his wrist didn’t distract him in the least. His teeth gritted so tightly that he could have chewed through the shackles if he wanted to. This wasn’t a bloodthirsty felon. This was a starved lion with teeth the size of tusks.

Zack jumped out of his seat and shoved various passengers out of the way on his path of destruction towards Gilbertson, who was shoving away flight attendants and passengers himself while laying a thudding beat down on Tony Battles’ face. Tony could just lay there and die for all Zack cared. Then again, so could Gilbertson. The drunkard turned around long enough to see Zack Scott in his prison suit and Charles Manson mug flying through the air with his elbow raised. Once the prisoner landed, he brought the elbow down across Gilbertson’s terrified face, shattering his nose, breaking off a few teeth, and popping one eyeball out of the socket. Blood and bones spilled all over the airplane floor.

The passengers and flight attendants backed away in horror while Zack Scott stood over Gilbertson’s prone body with bloodlust on his face and a hard-on underneath his suit. Tony wiped the blood out of his own eyes and gazed up at his prisoner in horror. The convict smiled upon his handler and shrugged while saying, “I guess that means the end of my plea deal.”

Tony shook his jowls before nipping up to his feet and grabbing Zack by the jumpsuit. The raging force of the detective was enough to pin the still smiling Zack against the bathroom door. “You’re damn right it’s the end of the plea deal, you sick fuck!” Detective Battles shouted. “I’ve got a new deal for you, pal! You’re going to do the hardest fucking time this planet has to offer! It’ll make Guantanamo Bay look like a massage parlor!”

Zack’s arrogant expression refused to change while the passengers and flight attendants watched the scene unfold with pants-wetting horror. Tony leaned in close to the convict’s ears and whispered as smooth and sensually as a rapist cell mate. “Do me a favor, sweetheart. Don’t tell anybody that I left the key there on purpose. Otherwise, the new plea deal will fall through and you really will do hard time.”

Zack whispered right back at Tony, “Don’t worry, honey-bunny. Your secret’s safe with me. Should I lick the back of your ear to make this even more romantic?”

Tony’s eyes shot up while he surveyed the zombie-like expressions of everyone around him. “What are you all looking at?!” he belted. “Get back to your seats! This is personal business!” Get back to their seats they did, including Zack, sans shackles. He overheard the detective getting statements from several people, including the slapped flight attendant (Susan Martin) and the Mr. Happy Hour himself, Andrew Gilbertson. Those two names would appear in the Sunday morning paper. Tony Battles would be a popular name in that article too. What about Zack Scott, though? Could he in all good conscience put himself in a news story and jeopardize his new plea deal? Eh, fame and fortune were overrated. Chocolate-covered waffles, on the other hand, didn’t get enough credit.

I'm Back From NOLA

***I’M BACK FROM NOLA***

If you’ve seen my Face Book posts about this particular vacation, you’ll notice the central themes of exhaustion and crabbiness. Truth is, though, it wouldn’t be right to complain about sleep schedules and lack of private time when many of my readers would kill for a chance to have fun in New Orleans, Louisiana. Why wouldn’t they? The food is next-level delicious, the eye-candy is sweeter than their actual desserts (that’s saying a lot!), and the weirdness of the late-night partying gives the city its individuality. Aren’t vacations supposed to be about having a good time anyways?

The first day of the vacation was Sunday, which means lots of airplane and taxi riding. If you’re traveling to New Orleans, your ass-numbing patience will be rewarded with a delicious dinner of tender and juicy rib-eye steak, soft and salty French fries, and some fried oysters that everybody can share (with good reason). Even before entering the restaurant, if you’re in this scenario, you get to meet a crazy guy who calls his little doggy a “reincarnated angel in animal form”. Come to think of it, if I didn’t know how weird New Orleans can be, I’d swear that guy owns a windowless van. Hehe! Nah, that’s mean. He had a good puppy-duppy, I mean, angel from heaven.

The second day was all about riding a boat through the swamplands and getting to see some awesome creatures in their natural habitat. There were so many gators in that swamp that you’d swear Karen Russell’s novels took place in New Orleans instead of Florida. We also got to see some wild piggies, some of whom were affectionately named Male Chauvinist Pig, Piggy Smalls, and Notorious PIG. Goddamn, that tour guide had a wild sense of humor. He even made a few wisecracks about throwing his guests overboard since they were “live bait”. And when we pulled into the dock, we got to pet small kitties hanging out at the ticket office. There was a tuxedo kitty, a panther-looking kitty, a gray and white beauty, and a shy Siamese sweetie that reminded me of Luna-Tuna. So many animals in one day!

Dia numero tres (forgive me if my Spanish is off) was spent going on a van tour of the city and learning all about the history of this wild and crazy city. Houses were purposefully raised to deal with flooding, some of them high enough to fit an entire level underneath. When Hurricane Katrina did its damage, it wasn’t he levies that broke. It was the rising level of the lake, a lake which feeds off into the Gulf of Mexico. From what I’ve seen, New Orleans still has quite a bit of work to do in recovering from this environmental disaster. Theme parks need to be restored, buildings need to be used, and schools need to be reopened. It can and will be done. If there’s anything you can learn from the people of New Orleans, it’s that they can persevere through anything and keep their smiles alive in the process.

The fourth day was easily the most eye-opening and educational part of the vacation. We visited Whitney Plantation and got to learn about the oppressive lives of black slaves. Our tour guide, Ali, even said that the alternative right racists have nothing on the slave owners back in the 1700’s and 1800’s. Owning slaves wasn’t just about physically beating someone into submission. It was psychological torture as well. The slaves lost their names, their culture, their education, and their family structures thanks to this disgusting business of treating human beings like property. Visit Whitneyplantation.com to see just how fucked up of a past we have. Racism is real, slavery is real, and both still exist in other forms in today’s world.

The fifth and final day was spent wandering around the French Quarter looking for various shops to pay a visit to. My mom got a facial at a beauty shop and the European lady who performed that service told me that I was “cute and handsome” and that she wishes she had a mommy like mine. My face was redder than the Communist Manifesto. I’m just kidding, I don’t write like that. Hehe! Dale visited various candy shops and got his fill of chocolates and pralines. I got a full body reflexology massage that relieved the stresses of travel and lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders. I also went to the toy store and bought a Lego dragon from the Ninjago franchise, so expect Toy Universe photos in the near future.

This is the second time I’ve been to New Orleans, the first being Halloween in 2011, where I walked down Bourbon Street dressed as a druid. If I ever go there again for Halloween, I’m going dressed as Corey Taylor from Slipknot. Even the late-night partying weirdoes of that city would back away in fear, just like they do in Port Orchard. Hehe! All in all, the tiredness and travel was worth it for five days of necromantic culture and educational history. I’m not sure I’d want to do another long-distance vacation again for a while, but hey, that’s what I have concerts for, which are really just one-day vacations. In June, it’s Roger Waters. In July, it’s Brit Floyd. In August, I have separate dates for Green Day, Metallica, and Incubus. And now in October, it’s Linkin Park with Snoop Dogg opening for them.

It’s easy to feel crabby and whiny when you’re tired all the time, but never forget to be grateful for all of your positive experiences. Home is always waiting for you, sleep is not too far behind, and your best memories will last a lifetime. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Now that Demon Axe is in the rear view mirror (at least until I recruit Marie-Pie to help me edit it), I’m going back to writing short stories to include in Poison Tongue Tales 2 and American Darkness 2. With the theme this week being “Call of Nature”, my story will be called “The Geomancer” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Bryan Valencia, Geomancer
2. Ally Bennett, Hiker

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Geomancy requires the wizard to be in touch with nature. It is, after all, the Greek word for “earth magic”.

SYNOPSIS: Ally is hiking in the mountains when she stumbles upon Bryan casting some sort of spell on the summit. When she asks him about it, he openly admits to wanting to cause a volcanic explosion. He’s a misanthrope who’s fed up with the atrocities humans have committed over the years whether it’s rape, war, genocide, or street violence. One blast from this volcano will be powerful enough to literally set the world on fire. It’s up to Ally to talk him down since she’s the only one who believes in Bryan’s geomantic powers.

***SPEAKING OF POISON TONGUE TALES***

I got feedback from my awesome friend Andy Peloquin regarding this lysergic collection of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror stories. Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete it because it was “too trippy” for his tastes. I don’t feel bad at all about that. In fact, I take it as a compliment that he thought he was on acid during his reading adventure. Hehe! I’m the same guy whose favorite movie of all time is Pink Floyd the Wall despite the creepiness of the schoolchildren’s faceless masks. This is a blog entry about New Orleans, so that only adds to the trippiness of it all. If Andy is reading this, I want to thank him for taking the time to read what he could and that there are no hard feelings, only yuk-yuk chuckles.

***BOOGER THE CLOWN***

During the flight home to Washington state, I jotted down ideas for novels in my Lego journal and came up with…”Booger the Clown”. Before you laugh like a donkey at that title, know that it’s an urban fantasy novel idea that deals with depression. Watch You Burn deals with schizophrenia, Occupy Wrestling deals with hair-trigger tempers, and most recently Demon Axe deals with PTSD. Now it’s time to talk about depression, so without further delay, here’s a beginning and middle synopsis for “Booger the Clown”:

CHARACTERS:

1. Andrew Gale a.k.a. Booger, Depressed Clown
2. Stupid Dog, Stray Schipperke
3. Orc Army
4. More to be Named

BEGINNING SYNOPSIS: After a tour of duty in the Middle East, gangsta rap-loving ex-marine Andrew Gale comes home with crippling depression and can only find work as a birthday clown named Booger. On his way to a party, his car breaks down and all he wants to do is sit on the side of the road and drink beer while listening to violent music. When an orc approaches him with a blade and an attitude, Booger thinks it’s just a drunken hallucination and encourages the beast to kill him. The orc becomes stunned at Booger’s suicidal behavior and ends up getting his ass kicked himself. After the battle, the clown finds an abandoned schipperke on the side of the road and calls him Stupid Dog due to his finger biting habits when being fed.

MIDDLE SYNOPSIS: Booger reveals that he didn’t join the marines because of personal politics or even the thrill of war. He joined at a lied-about age so that he could one day be physically and mentally strong enough to kick his abusive father’s ass.

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

Just once I’d like to buy a birthday cake for someone, put candles in it that look like penises, and tell the birthday boy to, “Blow them out”.

"The Room of Ancillary Dreams" by Harold Budd

When you play “The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd on your MP3 player, stereo, computer, or whatever the case may be, one of two things will happen to you. If you’re in bed trying to relax, not only will you enter the dream world, but you’ll be a gatecrasher for your own subconscious. If you’re trying to write a piece of literature on your computer, you will be free of distractions while having your musical needs satisfied to the fullest extent. I use this ambient piece of music for both purposes.

All you need in order to reproduce it is a piano and a wah-wah pedal. It’s a slow-paced song, so it’s easy for anybody to play regardless of their skill level. If you’re a piano player and you need to put on a concert for your audience, choose this song. Your audience will be knocked out within the first few seconds and you can get out early to catch a show of your own. Hell, they might even need blankets and pillows just to get through the entire show. The song is that relaxing.

I dare you all to go to You Tube right now and look up “The Room of Ancillary Dreams” right now. If you’re going to do it, make sure there’s a buckwheat pillow resting on your computer desk. Don’t worry about snoring too loudly, because it’s just another part of the restful ambience. There’s a good chance you sound like a cat purring when you snore. If you sound like a helicopter, though, that’s not a problem either.

Why exactly am I going to great lengths to sell you this wonderful piece of music? Because as an avid listener, it’s my obligation to do so. Realistically though, this is a song I always keep on my MP3 player in case I go for a long road trip or airline flight. My mom is on the verge of retiring and when she does, the vacations will come more often.

Riding in the car or on an airplane isn’t the most fun experience you’re going to have. If you’re on a six-hour flight, your ass will get sore and you will get cranky. But if you have a neck pillow and a copy of “The Room of Ancillary Dreams”, your long journey will seem like it went by in only a few seconds.

It used to be that I always requested sleeping pills during long trips. I may not need them in the first place now that I’ve discovered this blissful combination. If you’re going to a writer’s retreat in Tuscany or a reader’s conference in the Bahamas, do you really want to be awake for the entire thing? Absolutely not. Even if there was a terrorist takeover of your flight, being asleep is the best way to survive.

Grab your pillow and get some Z’s, people, because with this song in your headphones, even the UFC can’t rack up that many knockouts.

　

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do Nintendo characters use to get high?

A: Donkey Bong.