Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts

Saturday, September 2, 2023

Army of Love

VERSE 1

There are so many people who want me to bleed

Because a victim who freezes is what they need

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

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

These cyclone thoughts turned me into a night owl

Wipe away my tears with a dirty hand towel

Is there anybody out there who wants to talk?

To listen and feel, not to judge and mock?


PRE-CHORUS 1

If I can’t build an army of forever soldiers

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


CHORUS 1

Army of love, army of love

Pretty little angels from earth and above

Army of love, army of love

Everybody’s welcome, no need to push and shove


VERSE 2

One act of kindness can alleviate shyness

Buy you a coffee, tip the clerk the highest

Give you a hug that’s warmer than sunlight

Shield you from bullets in an endless gunfight

Make your puffy red eyes beautiful and bright

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

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

Now spread it around until we’re one choir sound


PRE-CHORUS 2

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

Or a secret cabal of money-hungry corporate suiters


CHORUS 2

Army of love, army of love

When you feel like you can’t do nearly enough

Army of love, army of love

A bond like this is unbreakably tough


BRIDGE

They might overwhelm us most of the time

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

Taking care of each other shouldn’t be a crime

It shouldn’t cost millions or even a dime


CHORUS 3

Army of love, army of love

It’s not a war or even competition

Army of love, army of love

Keep each other alive, it’s our only mission

Army of love, army of love

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

Army of love, army of love

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

Thursday, March 28, 2019

"Preacher, Vol. 6: War in the Sun" by Garth Ennis


BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 6: War in the Sun
AUTHOR: Garth Ennis
YEAR: 1998
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Horror
GRADE: Pass

Reverend Jesse Custer, Tulip O’Haire, and Cassidy’s search for God continues in the Arizona desert, where the Grail leader Herr Starr and an entire army are waiting for them. Herr Starr’s rise to power within the Grail has been a long time coming, complete with backstabbing, politicking, and rubbing shoulders with the highest authorities. With complete control of this Christian shadow society, Starr’s power hungriness won’t end until Jesse Custer and the Patron Saint of Killers are both finally dead and buried in the desert sands. Will nuclear missiles, tanks, and machineguns be enough for these two powerful entities?

Yes, the Grail is a fictional religious entity that controls all of the world’s governments and corporations. But despite being fictional, their portrayal is brutally honest when it comes to how power is traded across entities. Conspiracy theorists would go nuts with this kind of material. The Grail moves the money, they keep world leaders under their thumbs, and they do it all in the name of God. Ordinary people don’t have access to that kind of power, so all they can do is protest peacefully and most of the time it’s not enough. If you’ve ever thought there was something out there holding you down and keeping you from advancing, this is the comic book for you. It won’t give you the strength you need to carry on, but it’ll be otherwise entertaining and slightly educational.

Another thing I enjoyed about this graphic novel was the continuation of the storyline between Tulip and Cassidy. If you remember from Volume Five (Dixie Fried), a drunken Cassidy confessed his love for Tulip behind Jesse’s back and that made Tulip despise the Irish vampire for it. While I won’t say how this storyline continues (you know, because of spoilers and all), it will reach its climax by the end of the book. Hearts will be broken, anger will be felt, and everybody comes out of it with sadness in their souls. Maybe your own heart will break alongside the three characters.

Of course, I’d be remised if I didn’t mention just how brutal and messed up everything in this comic book is, the violence not being the deadliest among them. Anybody can shoot a tank cannon or drop a missile with the press of a button. But can you dine on flesh like it’s Taco Tuesday? Can you make the strangest requests to prostitutes imaginable? Can you dive into an eight-hundred pound man’s belly and cause him to throw up? Can you stomach the inbreeding that goes on to keep the “true savior’s” blood pure? Can you listen to New Orleans tunes if they’re unintelligibly sung by a teenaged boy with a grossly deformed face? Garth Ennis has a vivid imagination and he’s not afraid to use it when penning copies of Preacher. That’s what I love about his work.

Another awesome volume of Preacher is in the books. Everything that made the previous volumes great is neatly packaged into this one as well. It makes me want to finish the final three volumes, which is what any book should be doing in the first place: making you hunger for more. Preacher is one of my all-time favorite comic book series and for that I’m giving this volume a passing grade. I anticipate more greatness in the volumes to come.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Gary-Stu


I spent a hundred years in the navy
The sexy siren is carrying my baby
I spent five decades in the marines
They all call me a fighting machine
I spent half a century in the army
No way could the enemy harm me
I spent ten years in the air force
I still don’t make sense, of course
I’m a Gary-Stu who’s lost at sea
Always carry machineguns with me
A battleaxe bigger than my body
Always imitated, but never copied
Except by those trying to make a buck
Make a fortune from negative luck
Put me in a videogame or paperback
I’m a macho man, genetically jacked
Everybody wants to buy my image
Everybody wants to laugh at critics
Everybody wants to look for tropes
Everybody’s given too much rope
Whatever happened to character depth?
Got slaughtered in a battle to the death
Everybody’s got their own little flaws
They don’t include too much brawn
They don’t include a nasty attitude
They don’t include a lazy aptitude
Three dimensional isn’t hard to achieve
All you have to do is make them believe
If a captain is going to be lost at sea
If a warrior is going to bleed, bleed, bleed
If a damsel in distress screams one last time
Put some reason in your fucked up rhyme

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

"King and Maxwell" by David Baldacci


BOOK TITLE: King and Maxwell
AUTHOR: David Baldacci
YEAR: 2013
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Crime Thriller
GRADE: Pass

Sean King and Michelle Maxwell are a pair of former Secret Service Agents turned Private Investigators who take on a teenage military brat named Tyler Wingo as their latest client. Tyler is told by the Army that his father, Sam, was killed in combat overseas, but he still receives text message and emails from Sam despite this. Sean and Michelle’s snooping around gets them into hot water with the government as well as a vengeful former soldier named Alan Grant. The two private detectives unlock a conspiracy theory that could get both of them killed, or worse, sent to Guantanamo Bay for violating national security. That’s a risk both are willing to take if it means giving Tyler Wingo the peace of mind he deserves.

David Baldacci’s decades of experience shine through in his writing to where even the most oblivious readers can see it. The fast pace, which is a hallmark of any thriller or mystery, is one of the most enjoyable parts of the book. The knowledge of rules and regulations when it comes to dealing with the government? Check. The frustration the detectives feel of putting together scattered pieces of a massive conspiracy puzzle? Double check. Villains and heroes who both know what the hell they’re doing? Triple check. This novel is foolproof when it comes to tying up loose ends and making sure nothing is based on the author doing guesswork. This is a well-crafted mystery that makes perfect sense when the reader gets closer to the end.

Another detail I’d like to applaud is how the clear villain in all of this, Alan Grant, has a sympathetic side to him, thus making him three-dimensional. Villains shouldn’t be evil just for evil’s sake. This poor bastard had parents who committed suicide because of their part in a corrupt military scandal in Iran. Fast forward to the events of the novel and that’s a lot of time Alan Grant had to think about how to plan his ultimate revenge. He served in the Army, so he has combat training down to a science. But fighting in a war that traumatic can only add fuel to his already volcanic fire. If Alan’s suppressed anger was a weapon, it could easily be a nuclear missile. He appears calm and collected in front of his wife, kids, and father-in-law. But inside, he’s hurting so badly that he’s borderline insane. Right or wrong in his actions, there’s no denying that Alan had a raw deal. I can’t hate the guy even though he’s a disgusting villain.

The final part of this novel that I enjoyed had more to do with personal satisfaction rather than overall impact on the story. As part of his revenge plot, Alan Grant buys a broken down radio station and has it completely remodeled. By the time the project is finished, the building has a strong internet signal, satellites and electricity everywhere, security traps that kill upon triggering, soundproof acoustics, and an overall clean feel. I’m a closeted home improvement junkie, so watching all of this take place gave me my fill. I never like to see abandoned buildings get left behind and not used ever again. I can imagine things like abandoned grocery stores becoming heavy metal arenas. I can picture a former Taco Bell building being transformed into a geek store. Hell, in my hometown of Port Orchard, the Blockbuster Video on Mile Hill became the new location for Taco Bell. That’s pretty damn cool in my book. So in addition to writing badass thrillers, David Baldacci might very well be a home improvement nut too. I like that!

King and Maxwell is a quick and satisfying read from cover to cover. It’s action-packed, intelligently-crafted, and character-driven. What more could you ask for in a mystery thriller from a legend in his field? I wouldn’t mind reading other books from the King and Maxwell canon if they’re anywhere near as good as this one. Hell, I might have to branch out into other canons Mr. Baldacci has delved into over the decades. The passing grade this book receives is well-earned!

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Where's My Free Stuff?

Colleen Holt had been on autopilot since she opened the Red Apple Convenience Store for the day. Her eyes were dark with sleepiness, her posture was hunched over, and she barely remembered the name of the man in the camouflage jacket who purchased a newspaper with a debit card. Yes, the card said Richard T. Betts, but what made him so different from any other putty faced customer that came in here? Colleen even let the man read the newspaper at the counter. She was so sleepy that she didn’t think to ask him why he would want to stay here. As long as Richard whatever-the-fuck didn’t bother anybody else, Miss Holt would be cool with it.

The one person who could snap Colleen out of her trance sauntered through the door and ran the bell. “Hey, Joey, how are you doing?” she asked in a perky voice. The gentleman she was referring to was Joey Elkins, a heavily bearded millennial with a ripped Pink Floyd T-shirt barely covering his chubby gut, blue fleece pajama pants that were too high for his ankles, and flip flops that showed off his yellow toenails. When asked how he was doing, Joey gave a slight wave and a half smile to his favorite clerk.

Whenever Colleen saw him walk through the door on a daily basis, his presence reminded her of the many members of her family who had a mental disability of some kind, most of which were confined to mental hospitals with nothing to do all day long. A singular tear dropped down Colleen’s dainty face whenever she thought of Joey in that way. That one drop of water represented a schizophrenic aunt, a bipolar sister, or a depressed father who attempted suicide twice in his life. Miss Holt didn’t want Joey to suffer the same fate, so she made it a point to be as nice to him as possible despite the fact that she hated working here.

“Just the Snickers bar and the can of Coke for today?” asked Colleen with a smile when Joey Elkins approached the counter with those two items. With a nod of the customer’s fuzzy head, the clerk rang him up and announced the prices as two dollars even. When Joey pulled an EBT card out of his lint-filled pocket, that was when Richard pulled his attention away from the newspaper and gave him a wicked glare. Colleen ran the card and it successfully went through. After giving Joey his receipt, she said in her cheeriest voice, “Have a good one, buddy!”

“Good to know my tax dollars are being well spent,” said Richard sarcastically.

“Excuse me?” asked Colleen with her arms folded defensively.

“Oh, nothing,” continued Richard. “It’s just that normally when you buy something from a convenience store, you do it with your own fucking money. There is no free lunch in this country. You’ve got to work your ass off and earn everything you get. You can’t live off of the hard labor of others like a goddamn leech!”

As soon as Joey trembled with anxiety, Colleen tried to step in with, “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t…”

Richard held an open palm to Colleen’s face and said, “Uh-uh! You’re not going to cut me off. This is a free country and I’m invoking my first amendment rights. There’s no safe space for you or this mooch. So step back for a few minutes and let me get this off my chest.”

Colleen felt the harshness radiating off of Richard like a nuclear rod and slowly backed away. She knew she should do something about this coldhearted oratory. It was not only her job as a convenience store clerk, but also a human being with at least a shred of decency in her body. The anxious energy in her gut told her to back off. Perhaps she was the next one to be locked in a padded cell. Maybe Joey would make it there first since he was already trembling like an earthquake going off in his body.

“As I was saying,” said Richard with a switchblade tongue as he pointed at Joey repeatedly. “If you think you’re going to live off of my hard work and take food off of my table, you’re sadly mistaken! Ditch the pajama pants and the crappy T-shirt and get some real clothes so that someone might actually hire you! You’ve got to make your own money and stop expecting society to baby you through life!”

As Joey’s convulsing worsened to where he whimpered, Colleen held up her finger and said, “To be fair…”

“Jesus Christ, lady, what now?!” snapped Richard.

“To be fair…” said Colleen in a shaky voice before clearing her throat. “Welfare and social security are only a small part of the federal budget. We…we…” After being told to spit it out by Richard, she said, “We spent more on war than we do anything else.”

“War?! War?! You think we spend too much money on war?!” shouted Richard. “Check out the jacket, missy! I used to be in the army! We need war! There are terrorists out there who want to bomb the shit out of us and you want to just sit back and do nothing?! That’s extremely disrespectful to our military! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! You want to talk about people getting free shit?! Where’s my free shit?! Huh?! Where’s my social security?! I served overseas and you don’t want to give me a damn thing?!”

Colleen just wanted to sink into the ground and cry for the rest of her life. She was done for. Joey was done for. This cold-blooded snake was going to send them both into a nervous breakdown. Not that he’d ever call 9-1-1 except to report an alleged abuse of the social security system. Just when her nervous system was about to shatter like peanut brittle, she overheard Joey pulling the tab on his Coke.

“What?! Uh-uh! No way!” bellowed Richard. “That’s my Coca-Cola! My tax dollars paid for that Coke, so you’re going to give me a drink! As a matter of fact, give me the whole fucking thing while you’re at it!”

Ask and ye shall receive. Joey took a sip of Coke and spit a brown sugary mist all over Richard’s now drenched face. Seeing that image brought tears to Colleen’s eyes, but they were tears of laughter. “That was awesome!” she said with a newfound sense of courage. “Give me five, buddy!” The two high-fived and their anxieties were replaced with comical joy. No more shaking. No more hurting (except for their ribcages). Just solidarity and sweetness between two friends.

Richard, on the other hand, was trembling for a different reason than anxiety. He seethed silently as he grabbed a paper towel and slowly wiped the liquid candy off of his face. He didn’t even care that his cheeks were still sticky with soda. He gritted his teeth and growled like a wolf before attempting to lunge at Joey. He would have had his hands wrapped around the kid’s neck if it wasn’t for Colleen diving across the counter and acting as a barricade between Richard and Joey.

“I’m going to beat your fucking ass, you fucking jerk!” roared Richard as he was being held back by Colleen, whose anxiety had been replaced with lava hot adrenaline. She didn’t care that the man was twice her size; there was no chance in hell he was going to let him hurt her favorite customer. “Let go of me, damn it! I’m going to kill him!”

“Stop it! Stop it!” screamed Colleen and Richard suddenly discontinued his struggle. “You are way out of line, Mister! You can have your free speech and whatever, but you are not entitled to beat the shit out of a mentally disabled man! You know what?! I’ve made up my mind! You’re blackballed from this store! I have your face on the security cameras! I have your credit card information! Your name is Richard T. Betts and you’re never coming back here again! If you do, I’ll have the police come and take you away! Now get the fuck out of my store!” Colleen never trembled so hard in her life. Her heart never beat so quickly. Her head never ached that badly.

Richard spit on the floor and said, “Good, I don’t want to come back to this dump anyways. In fact, I hope this place burns to the ground with both of you trapped inside!” Colleen’s evil stare refused to change in the midst of this bold threat. Nonetheless, Mr. Betts pointed at the teary-eyed Joey and said, “And you! If I ever see you on the streets again, I’m going to beat your fucking ass!” The ex-soldier stormed off and bumped his shoulder in the door on his way out.

Colleen’s expression softened when she saw Joey’s tears multiply and snot building up in his nostrils. “What a jerk! Are you okay, buddy?”

“N…No!” sobbed Joey Elkins, who then received a tight hug and a kiss on top of his shaved head from the equally teary Colleen Holt.

The two of them just stood there hugging it out and crying on each other’s shoulders. Colleen gently whispered, “It’ll be okay, Joey. It’ll all be okay. He’s never coming back again. I promise I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

“Why do people have to be mean to each other? All I wanted was something to eat and drink!” quivered Joey.

“I know, buddy. I know. I would never look down on you for using a food stamp card. You’re too sweet to me,” said Colleen. She barely noticed a customer standing at the counter with a case of beer tapping his foot impatiently.

She snapped at him, “Hey! Give us a minute! You’ll get your goddamn beer soon enough! Jesus Christ!” She continued to hold Joey in her arms and whisper, “I’m sorry this happened to you. I really am.”


The impatient customer cursed and walked out the door. Colleen didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck. Comforting Joey and making sure he wasn’t alone in this world was more important than a case of beer…and even more important than Richard Betts’s precious tax dollars.

Friday, September 30, 2016

Shield Me

The closer the subway train got to the Dreadnaught City station, the more Colonel Scott Percival doubted whether or not he could return to a normal life. Still dressed in his black khakis, brown boots, and black combat vest from the war, everything about Scott screamed “soldier”.

There was not one trace of love or peace in his contemplative facial expression as he kept his eyes glued to the floor of the train. Visions of war caused him to clench and unclench his ham-hawk fists. His energy blade was nestled by his side in case the war came back home with him. He never knew when the next explosion would come or who would be next to fire an assault rifle at him. In the cyberpunk hellhole of Dreadnaught City, being steadfast and hyper-vigilant was a way of life.

Scott’s inner demons were interrupted by the beeping sound of the train doors opening at its final stop for the night. With nobody else onboard except for him, getting off this clunky car was the easiest part of his evening so far.

The hardest part was seeing his girlfriend Gayle Rodriguez leaning against a platform pillar with her arms and legs crossed and tears running down her face. No trace of happiness, not even a weak smile, just a red cocktail dress, flowing black hair, and eyeballs full of stinging juices.

The traumatized soldier approached the equally traumatized girlfriend and wrapped his massive arms around her in a tender embrace. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’m home now,” Scott said in his best smooth jazz voice while stroking Gayle’s silky soft hair.

Gayle broke the embrace and looked into Scott’s coffee brown eyes with her own puppy-dog expression. “You don’t understand, babe. I can’t be with you anymore. I’ve done something horrible. I’m sorry, Scott! I can’t do this! I had to make money while you were away…and…I…I…”

“Back to work, sweetheart. Your dinner break was over an hour ago,” said a rough feminine voice from the shadows of the platform. When the woman walked into the overhead light, she revealed herself to be a gasmask-wearing heavyweight with a large red geisha robe fitting snugly over her pudgy features. Like Scott, she too had an energy blade nestled beside her, ready for combat at a moment’s notice.

With a look of concern shadowed by his black dreadlocks, Scott asked, “Gayle, who is this woman? What have you been doing while I was away?”

Gayle’s sobs became louder as she buried her face into her boyfriend’s chest and yelled, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Scott!”

“Break up the love fest, you stupid bitch!” shouted the obese woman. “There are horny men that need attending to and I don’t have anybody else to do it! You want your paycheck? You want to keep living in a heated apartment? Come with me! Never mind that loser you’re hugging! If he was a real boyfriend, he would have stayed home with you instead of running away from his so-called patriotic duty!”

Scott broke the embrace with his girlfriend and slowly paced toward the female pimp with his hand firmly around the dragon-themed hilt of his energy blade. “What did you say to me, bitch? What did you say?! You want to get your head chopped off tonight or what?!” Gayle was about to interrupt him with a sorrowful warning, but Scott backed her off and said, “Just stay behind me and don’t do a damn thing! I’ve got this! We can talk about the whole prostitution thing later! Right now, I’m going to gut this fat bitch alive and spread her insides all over this fucking platform!”

The pimp glared at Scott behind her hideous gasmask and drew her skeleton-themed hilt before ejecting a blade of hot red energy from it. She swung it around with the deftness of a samurai, sometimes even showing off when she spun it in the air. “For the record, my name isn’t fat bitch. It’s Carla Madder. Madame Carla Madder. The only one who should get her name changed to bitch is that woman you’re protecting!”

Scott Percival screamed in primal fury before drawing his glowing blue energy blade and throwing down with Carla Madder. Gayle stayed in the background curled up in a ball on the floor and letting her tears and snot run down her legs. The two warriors slashed and twirled their blades at each other, sometimes blocking with their weapons and other times flipping and dodging out of harm’s way. Their weapons even took chunks of cement out of the pillars and floor. The more destruction they caused to public property, the more they swung at each other with a berserker’s fury. Their furious brawl stalled with the two warriors holding their weapons together and glaring violently at each other.

“Is that all you got? I thought you soldiers had big fucking grenades. Turns out your just smuggling some cherry bombs!” taunted Carla. After laughing obnoxiously at her own joke, Scott went for an overhead slash only to have her duck down and head butt him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees and causing him to release his blade. Carla kicked the weapon onto the train tracks and stared at her opponent with a grizzly bear’s hunger. She even took her gasmask off and revealed her mouth to be an ugly contraption filled with razor sharp teeth and bloody red lips.

Gayle’s eyes shot up in horror at she watched her boss lick her top teeth with disgusting sexuality. Scott’s girlfriend crawled over to the edge of the platform and vomited stomach acid onto the train tracks.

“You have every disease on the fucking planet and you’re suddenly disgusted by what my mouth looks like. What about what YOUR mouth looks like, bitch?!” shouted Carla, earning her a punch to the gut and a clenched-teeth expression from Scott. The rock hard fist sank into her big belly like her body was made of quicksand. The wide-eyed Scott even struggled to pull his hand out, even grabbing his own wrist with his free hand.

“Pathetic! That’s all you soldier boys are!” taunted Carla as she popped Scott’s hand out of her belly and spin kicked him in the chest, sending the “soldier boy” flying backwards several feet and rolling on the ground. The demonic pimp squeezed her own breasts in violent anticipation while Scott was lying on his back hacking and wheezing.

Gayle crawled over to Scott and wrapped his huge arm around her shoulders in an attempt to get him to his feet. Even with Scott’s cooperation, lifting him was like trying to lift a small car. He continued to inhale deep, raspy puffs of oxygen, but dropped down to one knee. “Come on, Scott, get up! Please! Help me!” shouted Gayle.

The words of encouragement filled Scott’s mind with fire and fury. Even with his lungs burning and his chest stinging, he got up on his feet, looked his girlfriend in the eyes, and said, “I love you so much right now.” And then he heard a whirling noise and felt a hot blast of energy seer through his shoulder. He screamed in horrific pain as his left arm limply fell to the ground in a splash of blood, no longer attached to his already pain-wracked body. Scott got down on one knee again and clutched his shoulder, squealing through gritted teeth and tightened eyelids. Gayle screamed along with him and hugged his neck tightly.

“Enough of this shit!” shouted Carla, immediately gaining the silent attention of Gayle while Scott continued to cry out in agony. From where she was standing, it appeared the pimp threw her energy blade at her opponent. She confirmed this when she pointed her sausage finger at the hilt of her blade, which was halfway across the platform. “You’ve seen how much of a protective boyfriend your so-called man can be. How protective is he going to be with just one arm? How is he going to earn you the kind of money you made while working with me, Gayle? Is he going to be a circus freak? Is that how he’ll earn his money?”

Carla breathed like a wild beast while Gayle slowly backed away from her. The heavyset pimp approached her like a lion getting ready to feast. She kicked Scott in his shoulder hole along the way, causing the battle born soldier to roll around and scream even louder. Carla smiled viciously and said, “Gayle, give me my energy blade and all will be forgiven. You can come back to work anytime you want. I’ll even give you some…extra shifts!” Gayle attempted a fierce glare at her boss, but could only muster more sorrow. “Give it to me, Gayle! Give me the goddamn blade!”

This was Gayle Rodriguez’s chance to see the writing on the wall. She could side with her armless boyfriend and potentially live on the streets or continue having sex for money and live comfortably. Scott was a gentleman and the ultimate romantic lover. There was nothing romantic about what Gayle did for her paychecks. But big paychecks they were, so big that she could be in line for a promotion. Plus, how could she look Scott in the face after everything she did while he was away? Paycheck or not, it was wrong. Dead wrong.

With shaky legs and arms, Gayle got down on one knee and struggled to keep the energy blade in a firm grasp. Carla motioned for her to toss it with a wave of her hand. The prostitute steadied herself and once again tried to form a strong glare. All she did was shake some more. Her insides felt like they were being ground up into meat. With one girly throw, she tossed the hilt of the energy blade.

Carla reached up to grab it, but the hilt sailed over her head and into the one arm of Scott Percival, who ejected the red energy and slashed the pimp’s throat in one quick motion. Blood and organs flowed heavily from Carla’s big neck as she dropped to the ground and soaked the platform with her life juices. She tried to curse at her former charge, but all that would come out was a waterfall of blood. Once she landed on the floor chest first, the final tidal wave of blood splashed onto the train tracks below. One final twitch of her fat pinky and that was all she wrote.

Scott tossed the blade aside and looked tearfully into his girlfriend’s eyes. She looked back at him with that same ghostly expression before running up to him in high heeled shoes and hugging her one-armed man tightly while showering his face with kisses. “I’m so sorry, Scott! I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way! Please forgive me!” she begged.

Even with one arm, Scott’s hug felt warm and protective, like a romantic shield. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you again, Gayle. I’ll find a way to make money. And when I do, we’re going to have that family we’ve always wanted.”

“I love you, Scott!”


“I love you too, baby girl. Let’s get the fuck out of this dump.”

Saturday, May 28, 2016

I Don't Have To

VERSE 1
Just because I won’t join the fucking army
Doesn’t mean I wear the clothes of Barbie
There is no shame in staying right at home
It’s better than being dead and buried alone
The drill instructors are too damn loud
The abusive authority is too damn proud
I won’t die for some rightwing agenda
Or have visions of war burned into my retina

CHORUS 1
I don’t have to and I don’t want to
I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”
They can do just fine without me
The war machine will not devour me

VERSE 2
Blaming a whole generation of people
Is just as bigoted and just as evil
Millennials figured out a long time ago
If you step on a land mine, it’s going to blow
Body parts are strewn across the desert
Staying at home sounds so much better
We’re not the cowards you make us out to be
We’re just like you; we were born to be free

CHORUS 1
I don’t have to and I don’t want to
I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”
They can do just fine without me
The war machine will not devour me

VERSE 3
Coming home in a wooden casket
Flowers on your grave in a woven basket
Going insane with the trauma of war
Held prisoner behind padded cell doors
Financially crippled, forever homeless
Forever damaged, forever hopeless
This is far from being the American Dream
It’s the American Nightmare, time to scream

CHORUS 2
I don’t have to and I don’t want to
Death and blood will forever haunt you
I don’t belong in a body freezer

It’s not betrayal, I’m not stabbing Caesar

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Dennis Michaels

My mind may be a raging ocean all the time, but Dennis Michaels never saw his moment in the sun. He was originally supposed to be a part of a third act in Brawl Mart. That third act never materialized and Brawl Mart only had Occupy Wrestling and Filter Feeder to account for. That would-be third act was supposed to be called Debt of Pain and it centered around a panicky debtor named Lillian Floyd. Lillian got calls every half hour about how worthless she was and how she was going to jail if she didn’t pay what she owed. She tried calling the police on these people, but that went south in a hurry when the two detectives got their asses kicked. Instead of relying on people who waited forever to get approval from a corrupt judge, Lillian called the one man who could deliver beatings and assassinations like he was the UPS of murder. His name was Dennis Michaels and he was at one point an Army Ranger. The original plan was to have Dennis perform his duties and then at the end rip up his paycheck from Lillian before falling in love with her. Somewhere along the way, the storyline got scrambled and I couldn’t justify a lot of the action that was going on in the story. That should have been the end of Debt of Pain, but it wasn’t. I pitched this idea to Good Reads and they helped me make the modifications I needed to start anew. Starting anew meant new characters, something Dennis Michaels was not. You may see Debt of Pain on my Smash Words account someday, but not right away, and not with Dennis Michaels. The mercenary in this new idea is named Bryan Grant. The difference between Dennis and Bryan is that Dennis is a legitimate mercenary who will lay the smack down on any rude collection agent, while Bryan is a scam artist who sits around and collects paychecks from desperate debtors, who think he’s actually going to assassinate somebody rather than work for the agency himself. Bryan Grant will get his due justice somewhere down the road, but somebody else who needs justice is Dennis Michaels. Mr. Michaels had all the promise in the world to be a kick-ass character. He would have been a beefy warrior and a romantic Romeo all rolled into one. He would have used his rifle (which was for fighting) and his gun (which was for fun) over the course of one day. How exactly is he supposed to do that if he doesn’t have a story to be a part of? Ruthless mercenaries and hard lovers aren’t easy to come by. The only example I know of who fits this profile is Cloud Strife from Final Fantasy VII. Then again, Final Fantasy games always have a romantic element in them. Will Dennis Michaels be the next Cloud Strife? Hopefully, yes, but without all the emo bullcrap Mr. Strife displayed in the movie Advent Children.

 

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“That badge better be real or else my friend’s going to kick you in the FBI-balls.”

-Marty Deeks from “NCIS: Los Angeles”-