The House of Hathaway

Ah yes, the year 2003: a time in my life marked with bad mental health, suicidal thoughts, shitty education, and fights with online friends over inconsequential BS. So what’s the cure for all of this? Playing D&D with my brother James, of course! Whenever my mind wasn’t being bombarded with schizophrenic voices, I could put it to good use and guide my character through an epic adventure filled with magic and wonder! Or I could completely waffle it and confirm everything my head voices ever told me. Whoever said mental illnesses produce the best creativity needs to have their head mounted on a trident.

Speaking of tridents, guess what my character’s weapon of choice was! Everybody else in the campaign used a long sword because they had war in their bloodlines. I used a trident because I allegedly had fishing in my bloodline. Never mind the fact that the minimum damage on a trident cushioned every bad roll I could have made in combat. Nope! I’m just an angry fisherman named Regal. No last name, just Regal. My brother’s player character was named Riant, which apparently gave him a license to call my character Reg...which is short for Reggie…which rhymes with wedgie! Ugh…

But before we could get into the actual campaign, there was a mild disagreement between my brother and I over where in my bedroom we should sit. He sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor and I sat in my computer chair. He urged me to sit on the floor with him, but I refused. So our campaign began with Regal tending a barn full of animals during a thunderstorm. Weird, but okay. I moved the animals all over the place until lightning struck me and killed me. This was all an elaborate April Fool’s joke to coerce me to sit on the floor with him. I of course didn’t catch on, because, you know, schizophrenia and all. Plus, I had just argued with an online friend the night before and pretty much terminated our relationship, so there was that weighing heavily on me.

Now that I was cross-legged on the floor with James, the real campaign could begin. The House of Hathaway (very British-sounding name if I’ve ever heard one) put a bounty on some guy’s head because he stole something valuable from them. There was a poster on the city walls with his likeness and price printed on it. The poster said he was last seen out in the countryside. So naturally, my first move would be to go out to the countryside to look for this thieving bastard. Riant disagreed. He wanted to go to the local jewelry shop to ask a bunch of questions. Regal didn’t see the point of this, but played along nonetheless. He even asked, “Are you ready to go?” Apparently, this came off like an invitation rather than a demand, so Riant dinged Regal for that one.

So Regal goes over to the jewelry shop to interrogate the clerk. When I, the player, couldn’t think of any questions, James urged me to think like Vic Mackey from The Shield. How would he interrogate someone? What kinds of questions would he ask? If you’ve seen The Shield during its heyday in the 2000’s, you would associate Vic Mackey with ass-beatings galore. That’s how he got all of his information. Was James suggesting that I beat this clerk’s ass? Seemed unreasonable to me. Riant started the conversation with, “Any word of thievery?” I continued the line of questioning with a bunch of “personal questions” that got us kicked out of the shop when the clerk got offended. Why did he get offended? Why was he not cooperating with our line of questioning? My first guess would be because the clerk was a dick who didn’t respect our authority. But Riant insisted that Regal was “asking the wrong questions”.

So after that little kafuffle, Regal and Riant finally agreed to go to the outskirts of town where the real clues led. Regal went home to get an ox to ride on and Riant gave him a weird ass look for it. Regal also got weird ass looks from ordinary citizens for carrying a trident around with him. Never mind the fact that every weapon in the D&D franchise has a sheath and that’s what I was trying to do: put it in a sheath. James insisted that tridents didn’t have sheaths (they totally do), so this was the result: a bunch of crazy stares from the extras of the campaign. Oh, excuse me, the “background artists” of the campaign.

So as Regal and Riant make their way to the countryside (with no ox to ride on), Riant gives Regal a lecture about his poor performance in this bounty hunting mission so far. “Why am I always the one helping you? I wish you’d help yourself.” This would have been the perfect time to mount Riant’s head on a trident, but Regal held back and also held his tongue. The reasonable answer would have been to complain about everybody no-selling the seriousness of what Regal was doing. They treated him like a clown for reasons I would never understand. Then again, understanding everything isn’t in the schizophrenic’s arsenal, especially under heavy medication.

The two bounty hunters go out to the countryside to interview various farmers about the last time they’ve seen the House of Hathaway’s prized thief. Regal goes up to one farmer and says, “Excuse me, can I talk to you for a moment?” The farmer says, “We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Another example of NPC’s no-selling the gravity of the situation. We weren’t talking before, that’s why Regal asked the fucking question! I can’t remember what questions Regal asked after that, but the conversation took another steep turn when the farmer asked why he was being interrogated. Regal admitted to being a bounty hunter and the farmer lectured him about how that lifestyle could get him killed or arrested. To be fair to me, I had no idea bounty hunting was a sensitive issue since bounty hunters are on the same side as traditional law enforcement. But oh well. Can’t put the words back in my mouth now!

Regal and Riant go out to the forest to look for clues and they find a series of footprints in the dirt. Regal’s assessment of the situation was that there was a struggle taking place due to the awkward angle of the foot prints. Maybe a cult had gotten the thief. Was the thief even here? Who knows? Before I had the chance to find out more, our campaign ended when James and I were called away from the game by our parents.

This campaign was supposed to be a tribute to The Shield, but it looked more like The Three Stooges…except there was only one stooge and multiple straight men. That stooge was named Regal. He was a stooge because he couldn’t figure out basic detective protocol. To my young mind, The Shield wasn’t about nuance and politics. It was about ass-beatings and edginess. If Regal tried any of the tactics Vic Mackey used on The Shield, he would have been locked up a long time ago. Regal had no official authority; he was a freelancer and didn’t have any of the privileges of a traditional cop.

I don’t want you all to think that the House of Hathaway campaign was a microcosm on its own. My role-playing abilities suffered all throughout the 2000’s due to my mental illnesses and general naivety. You talk about NPC’s no-selling the gravity of the situation? That happened in pretty much every RPG I was a part of, including ones where I was the game master and had complete control. From 2010-2011, I took the role of Dungeon Master once more, but this time had better results. My players were actually being receptive to my awkward and insane ideas. It’s because of this newfound success that I decided to write fiction on a regular basis, not just movie scripts where the characters went along with each other despite the awkward writing.

To this day, I still have ups and downs when it comes to mental health. The one rule I follow to keep D&D campaigns and creative writing pieces from getting too weird is to not work on them while I’m having a bad mental health day. If the schizophrenic demons keep me boiling with anger or the depression keeps me tired and unmotivated, that would be the perfect time to take the day off. The other important rule I have to follow is to not shame myself for needing a personal day. I shame myself a lot and I think it contributes to my mental health being worse overall. Then again, mental illnesses depend on the victims cycling through negative thoughts. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be mentally ill in the first place.

I can look back on the House of Hathaway campaign and laugh about how silly it all was. Even if failing miserably hurt my self-esteem for a while, I think I’ve gained some of it back over the years and that’s why my writing career has picked up along the way. Come to think of it, writing novels is basically just playing D&D by myself. Or playing WITH myself, depending on the adult content of any one novel. Hopefully, I’ve come a long way from Regal in 2003 to Garrison Kelly in the present day. I’d like to think so. Maybe. Sometimes. I don’t know. Could you repeat the question?

Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2

MOVIE TITLE: Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2

DIRECTOR: James Gunn

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Superhero Film

RATING: PG-13 for sci-fi violence and crass humor

GRADE: Pass

The Guardians of the Galaxy, led by Peter Quill, are on the run from bounty hunters yet again after raccoon teammate Rocket steals high energy batteries from the Sovereign race. The golden aliens go so far as to hire Quill’s adoptive father Yondu and his ravager mercenaries to recapture them. The Guardians’ only saving grace comes when Quill’s real father, a celestial god named Ego, rescues them and brings them back to his psychologically crafted home planet. The more time Quill spends with Ego, the more his father’s darkest secrets bubble to the surface and the more danger his crew is in.

When I write this review, I don’t want any of you to think that I’m crapping all over the humorous aspects of this movie. They serve their purpose and are easily the most entertaining part of the movie aside from the violence and the emotional aspects near the end. Having said that, they’re a double edged sword. On the positive side, you’ve got Rocket’s raunchy dialogue, Drax’s socially awkward behavior, Quill’s pop culture references, and Baby Groot’s naïve attitude towards everything. I especially enjoyed what the director has done with the unfortunately named Taserface, whose self-chosen moniker has become the butt end of everyone’s crass insults. And then there’s also Rocket’s dismantling of Yondu’s army in the forest with his gadgets and traps. Rocket is easily the funniest character in the whole movie, bottom line, end of story.

But with every double edged sword, there are negatives to the positives. Marvel movies in particular get this criticism a lot, but nothing seems to change. While humor in and of itself is a major boost to any movie script, there are times when the casual jokes take away from the emotionally charged parts of the film. This descent from emotional highs is called bathos, an antonym for exalted. I would have loved to see some tearjerkers between Quill and Ego, Gamora and her vengeful sister Nebula, and Drax and the empathetic mantis named…well…Mantis. But alas, being funny was more important to the director than being emotionally invested. It must be a guy thing. The only real emotional connection the audience can feel with the movie is in the movie’s conclusion, which I won’t spoil save for that one tidbit. Something needs to change, Marvel. I hope you’re listening.

But don’t let this mild descent into bathos distract from the idea of this movie being entertaining from beginning to end. If you like hardcore sci-fi violence, you’ll certainly get plenty of that. If you like a well-crafted story with quirky characters and occasional lovey-dovey aspects, this movie has that in spades. If you like wild imagination with your sci-fi stories, and really, who doesn’t, buckle up for the ride. For all intents and purposes, this is a damn good movie that deserved to draw in all the money it did. You know that Futurama meme with Fry holding up a wad of cash and yelling, “Shut up and take my money!” That’s the attitude you should have with this movie. A passing grade will go to this fine piece of cinema!

Wolf's Cannonball

Little Red skipped and hopped through the forest with a wicker picnic basket in hand and a sunshine smile on her face. Her red cloak and hood flapped like a flag in the morning wind while goose bumps formed on her arms from the chilly weather. After a lengthy summer of boiling hot weather, a gentle breeze was most certainly welcome. By the time Red reached the top of the hill, she gazed into the distance with a star-struck expression and said, “My, what big eyes you have! You dead bastard!”

Her innocent aura was replaced with a menacing scowl as she pulled the hood over her face and knelt down to unload her picnic basket. Instead of delicious treats for grandma, Red pulled out pieces of a sniper rifle and assembled them with military quickness. She laid on her stomach and peered through the scope to acquire her target. Even with so many trees standing in her way, the target was as clear as the morning weather. “That bounty money is as good as mine, motherfucker!” she said with a sadistic grin.

Within Little Red Sniper’s crosshairs was the Big Bad Wolf himself, the hairy beast moving gracefully with martial arts movements. Every spin kick and palm strike would have made the legendary Bruce Lee proud. One of his spin kicks managed to slice one of the trees down. The thunderous crash to the ground made Little Red Sniper giggle and shake her head. “Pathetic. That’s what it is,” she said under her breath. “All that kung fu BS won’t mean a damn thing with a bullet in your head.”

After performing his kata, the Big Bad Wolf stood still and breathed intensely to relax his body while he spread his palms out. This wasn’t the kind of breath that could huff and puff and blow somebody’s house down, but it did let Little Red know that he worked hard to perfect his craft despite her unimpressed stare through the scope. The innocent-looking sniper focused her crosshairs right between Wolfie’s eyes and she took the perfect shot.

As the thunderous blast rang out through the forest, Little Red Sniper got up and celebrated her perfect shot with arm swinging dances and moonwalk shuffles. She giggled as she peered through the sniper scope to see just how badly Wolfie’s head exploded. “No fucking way,” she said to herself. “This is some sugar frosted bullshit!”

Wolfie had caught the bullet with his fangs and spit it out like chewed bubblegum. Instead of splattered brains, all she got was a tiny trickle of blood running down his furry chin. The martial arts genius’s deadly grin showed a dark side of him that the public was used to seeing. Even Little Red had been quivering in her boots upon seeing such a vicious expression.

With her rifle still concentrated on the Big Bad Wolf, Little Red slowly backed away while stuttering uh’s repeatedly. The further she backed away, the closer Wolfie got as he power walked across the forest to go in for the kill. Little Red kept backing away until she bumped into a muscular figure behind her and dropped to her knees, losing her rifle in the process.

When Little Red reached over shakily to pick up her weapon, she felt a death grip around the nape of her neck as it yanked her off the ground kicking and screaming. “Put me down, you big oaf! I’ll pop your head open once I get my rifle!” she threatened.

The massive hand turned her around and now she was face to face with yet another razor sharp mouth and bloodlust glare. The orange flannel shirt, the baggy blue jeans, the black combat boots, and the blood-covered axe, not to mention the filthy green skin: they all spelled the presence of Hacksaw the grumpy lumberjack. The orc leaned his face closer to Red’s and said in a throaty voice, “You ain’t gonna do shit!” before tossing her aside easier than a beach ball.

After Little Red bounced off of a tree stump, Hacksaw kicked the sniper rifle away into the nearby bushes while the Big Bad Wolf leapt onto the battlefield with grace and dexterity. Wolfie did some marital arts punches and tornado kicks in the air to warm himself up, but only received a belly laugh from an indifferent Hacksaw. “You think any of that shit’s going to matter once I chop your goddamn head off?” he mockingly asked. “I don’t give a damn about your big bad reputation; that money is mine!”

Hacksaw charged at Wolfie and swung his axe like a barbarian possessed by eye-bulging rage. While that battle was going on, Little Red wiped the dirt out of her eyes and slowly crawled towards the bushes where her sniper rifle was kicked. “Almost there…” she said weakly before Hacksaw accidentally stepped on her hand and made it sound like he walked on packing peanuts.

“Yeouch!” hollered Little Red as she pulled her hand out and felt it pulsate with redness like she was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Watch where you’re stepping, you giant sack of turds!”

Hacksaw grabbed Little Red by her crunchy wrist and slammed her against Wolfie, sending him flying backwards against a tree, which crackled and smashed upon impact. After tossing Little Red aside once again, Hacksaw raised his axe to the sky and shouted, “Yes! That bounty money’s mine! Ha-ha! I did it! Woo!”

Little Red once again attempted to crawl towards her weapon, broken hand and all. This time she was sure she would retrieve it. It was inches away from her good fingertips. Victory would be hers and bullets would fly everywhere in this god forsaken forest. Her fingertips were on the barrel when she felt a hard boot come down across her spinal cord. She yelped in pain and howled like a puppy while Hacksaw pulled her up by her blond locks.

“I’ve had just about all I can stand of you, you crazy bitch!” grunted Hacksaw with his axe raised in the air. “All I wanted was a nice beachside vacation for my family and you’re out here trying to take that shit away from me! That pretty little head of yours is coming off today!”

Little Red spit out blood and protested, “Beachside vacation?! You’re doing all of this to get sand in your ass?! My grandmother has cancer, for god’s sake! Hell, there are lots of guys out there who need that bounty money more than you do! There will always be time to get salt water in your nose and sand in your G-string! My grandmother has six weeks to live! I need this money, damn it!”

“Ah, who cares about that old hag?!” grumbled Hacksaw. “She would have been dead even if she didn’t have cancer! She’s probably so old that she has Jesus on speed dial!”

“So this is it, huh?” said a familiar grunting voice. Once Hacksaw recognized it as an arm-folded Big Bad Wolf, he released his grip on Little Red and allowed her to scoot away while holding her lower back. Wolfie continued with, “You two are finally going to be the ones who take me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit? Of course they’re going to pin it on me. I’m a fucking wolf! Never mind that the two of you are killing each other over some ill-gotten reward. Never mind that children go missing every day around here. Never mind that not one body was found out in these woods. Not one fucking body!”

A beat of silence befell the bounty hunters as their expressions softened and their shoulders slacked. Wolfie wasn’t done yet. “I know how the so-called justice system works. It can’t be called justice at all. The guy with the sharpest teeth and the martial arts skills is automatically guilty despite there being no fucking evidence of any crime. How dare you judge me based on a fake reputation! How dare you come at me looking for a shallow reward! If I wanted to waste my time with you guys, both of you would be dead as fried chicken by now!”

Wolfie stroked his chin and as a light bulb went off in his head. “Come to think of it, there is one technique I’d like to try, but it might actually kill me, it’s so powerful. I’ve been working on it for years. If I could get it right, both of you would be dead ass motherfuckers and I could finally live in peace. Yeah, that sounds about right…I call it the Wolf’s Cannonball!”

Holding her hands up in defeat, Little Red pleaded, “Now listen, Wolfie-Pie: you don’t need to do that shit. Both of us will get out of here and leave you alone. Hell, we’ll probably start a petition to get that bounty off your head. Right, Hacksaw?”

“Wolf’s Cannonball, my ass! I ain’t gonna help him with a damn thing! He needs to die and if you’re too much of a sissy to collect that bounty, I’m going to do it!” shouted Hacksaw as he charged at Wolfie with his axe yet again despite Little Red’s protests.

In defense the Big Bad Wolf backed up Hacksaw by curling into a ball and spinning in the air with mystic blue energy surrounding him. Little Red crawled on the ground like a snail while Hacksaw tripped over everything in fear until he was on his knees crouching into the fetal position. The faster Wolfie spun in the air, the wider the blue energy spread and the tighter Little Red and Hacksaw clutched their prone bodies. In a moment of desperation, the two hunters even hugged each other knowing their financial wishes wouldn’t come true and their lives would be over.

In a blinding flash of blue light, a jet engine wooshing noise flew past Little Red Sniper and Hacksaw and had them screaming like torture victims in hell. They screamed even louder as their skin boiled and their hairs stood up. The energy got hotter and the light was bright enough to damage eyes worse than a solar eclipse. And then…total darkness. All that remained of Little Red and Hacksaw’s pain were migraine-sized headaches and pulsating eyeballs.

“You can let go of me now, Hacksaw,” said Little Red Sniper in a sheepish voice. The orc lumberjack obeyed and the two of them slowly rose to their feet while dusting themselves off. Once Little Red popped her spine back into place, she and Hacksaw saw that the Wolf’s Cannonball had left a deep trail beneath them and that trail was leading into the city. They could see the castle from here as it exploded into a bright blue fire before being sucked up in a gigantic energy beam blasting into the sky.

“So that’s the Wolf’s Cannonball. He didn’t want to use it on a couple of bounty hunters. He wanted to take down the justice system. Eh, makes sense,” said Little Red with shrugged shoulders.

“I bet that castle as a shit load of gold in it somewhere. Government buildings usually do. There’s probably enough in there for both of us to get what we want,” said Hacksaw.

“Are you suggesting that we loot the castle?” asked Little Red in minor shock. Once Hacksaw smiled and winked at her, she smiled back and said, “For the first time in my life, I like the way you think!”

The two bounty hunters wrapped their arms around each other and walked from the scene. Hacksaw asked, “Don’t you want your sniper rifle?”

“Meh. I’ll just buy a new one. Maybe I’ll get a rocket launcher, who knows?” said Little Red nonchalantly.

“I also like the way you think!”