Three months of murders and rapes had passed in the wild west town of Tombstone and Sheriff Lisa Roberts was no closer to solving these crimes. The public was beginning to lose faith in her. Hell, they didn’t have much faith in her to begin with seeing as how she was Tombstone’s first female sheriff. At this point, all she wanted to do was get a cold glass of frosty beer at the saloon and forget her failures ever happened. Getting the icy treat was no problem. In fact, it tasted delicious. Passing out afterwards was a little creepier to think about.
She had every right in the world to be creeped out, especially after waking up with a monster hangover and actually having the capacity to think. She didn’t, however, have the capacity to move or talk. Her wrists and ankles were bound by leather straps to what felt like a rickety wooden torture table. Her mouth was stuffed with a red rubber ball with a strap that was nailed to the table. She tried to squirm and muscle her way out of this insidious device, but she was stuck whether she liked it or not. All she could do was listen to her own heart beat in the back of her throat while icy sweat poured down from her long auburn hair.
The room she was in was illuminated only by wall torches. There were no windows to the outside and even if there were, Lisa Roberts wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her permanent stay in this death dungeon that reeked of mice corpses and horse shit was further cemented when she heard a familiar raspy voice in the background. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve got you down here, Lisa!”
She knew she heard the voice somewhere before, but it wasn’t until the madman stepped into the light did she realize who this disgusting prick was. He had puffy white hair, a dreadlocked beard, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a blood-covered lab coat with little more than a black thong underneath. He also carried a machete that looked sharp enough to cut through steel. Lisa had seen this man before and started panicking through the ball gag once she realized who he was: Cletus Jung aka The Happy Slasher.
Cletus twirled his machete around nonchalantly as he stared into Lisa’s fearful eyes and explained himself. “You’re a tough woman to get a hold of, Miss Roberts. You’re an even tougher woman to ask on a date. It didn’t have to be this way, Lisa. You could have said yes and all would have been right with the world. But instead, you chose the path of a snooty, stuck-up mega whore. You labeled me, Lisa. You labeled me a creep! You labeled me a psychopath! And when all I wanted was a goodbye hug, you threw a beer in my face!”
The madman’s heavy breathing made Lisa perspire and tremble even more. He said, “Well, my darling. My lovely, beautiful, sexy darling. You have every right in the world to say goodbye to me. In fact, it’s your last goodbye. After tonight, you’re not going to be known as the first female sheriff of Tombstone. You’re going to be known as victim number fifty. That’s a lot of bodies to leave behind. I’ve built quite the legacy for myself, haven’t I? I thought that would have been enough to impress you.”
Tears formed in both Lisa and Cletus’ eyes, but for much different reasons. The machete-swinger said, “And this is how you repay me? By turning me down and leaving me a depressed mess? Well, I’m tired of being single, my dear. I’m tired of feeling lonely. With you strapped to that table, I don’t have to be lonely anymore. And goddamn, do you look sexy strapped to that table. I love a girl with a ball in her mouth. Now…let’s get started!”
Cletus raised his bloody blade and slowly stalked Lisa as she rocked the table back and forth with all of her desperate strength. The closer her got, the harder she rocked. The serial killer shook his head at her and said, “Bitch, please, you’re not getting away that easily.” With that said, Mr. Jung raised his machete in the air and brought it down with a powerful force. This would have been the end of many months of sexual frustration for him.
But just as the blade came down, so did the table. The wooden table crashed over on its side and Cletus ended up slashing the leather restraint on Lisa’s left hand. Once she tasted that small bit of freedom, she wasted no time in punching Cletus right in his nut sack, doubling him over in extreme pain.
That bought the sheriff a little bit of time to use her free arm to undo her restraints and ball gag as quickly as she could. The adrenaline rush caused her to fumble with the straps as she tried to untie herself and she screamed through her gag in frustration. She was quickly losing precious time since Cletus was slowly standing back up and raising his blade for yet another slash. “You goddamn bitch!” screamed the murderer when he brought down his blade for what was sure to be the final time.
Lisa had undone her restraints and gag with only microseconds to spare and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the slash. She rolled on her back and went for another low blow, but this time Cletus was ready. He caught her cowgirl booted foot and brought it to his face for a deep sniff.
“You sick pervert!” yelled Lisa before she hauled her foot back and planted a big kick right across the bridge of Cletus’ nose. The killer stumbled backward against the wall clutching his bloodied nose and screaming like a hunted animal. While Lisa used the knocked over table to try and lift herself off the ground, Cletus saw another opportunity to bring down the fierce blade.
This time the torturous weapon found its mark. Lisa’s left hand was cut off at the wrist and the cowgirl rolled around on the ground clutching her wound and crying in agony. She held the front of her shirt against the stump to try and suppress the bleeding. Cletus was bleeding too, but it was the result of a fractured nose and he didn’t care.
Instead the creepy machete warrior picked Lisa’s detached hand off the ground and fondled the fingers lovingly. “Yes…yes, this is indeed a beautiful hand, my dear. Now I won’t have to use my own anymore. You gave me a piece of your body.” Happy tears formed in Cletus’ eyes when he said, “And for that I thank you so much! You’re such an angel! At least you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you!”
The agonized Lisa Roberts was on one knee still trying to stop the bleeding when her attacker raised his weapon and charged at her full force. The lawwoman only had seconds to react, so she decided to be just as disgusting as her opponent when she unwrapped her shirt from her stump and sprayed a stream of blood in Cletus’ eyes, blinding him and causing him to swing wildly at thin air.
“You bitch! You crazy bitch!” screamed Cletus as he was swinging and missing. “Who does that to another human being?!”
Lisa got to her feet with her stump rewrapped and answered that question with, “The same person who cuts off a woman’s hand just because she broke his damn heart. I don’t give two shits about your broken heart, Cletus. I care a lot more about your broken head!”
In the midst of Cletus’ blind slashing, he had his back turned to Lisa for only a few short moments. That was all she needed to make her move, she ran up to him and threw a flying kick to the back of his head, causing him to wobble forward and drop his weapon. He was so dizzy that he dropped to the ground on one knee reaching around for anything to support him. In case he was thinking of getting his weapon back, Lisa kicked it away from him.
She unforgiving sheriff then stepped on his spine and held him there while allowing him to bellow in agony and scream as many curse words as he could think of before the inevitable happened. While one boot was on Cletus’ back, the other boot came down multiple times on the back of his head, effectively curb stomping him out of existence. His brains and broken skull decorated the already pungent floor of the murder dungeon. Then again, so did Lisa’s stump, which was still bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt.
Escaping the dungeon and finding a doctor in time was a cakewalk compared to the battle she had with Cletus Jung. Not only did the doctor stop the bleeding, but he also attached a hook to her left arm so that she wouldn’t be completely disabled. After the injury, Lisa Roberts began to question the validity of returning to work with most of the town despising her anyways.
But after hearing about Cletus Jung’s violent death, the town didn’t feel too hostile toward her anymore. In fact, they could have voted for Lisa over and over again if they wanted to. But was she really ready to return to work with a hook on her hand and a gun in the other? Decisions, decisions.
Showing posts with label Cletus Jung. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cletus Jung. Show all posts
Friday, October 9, 2015
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Zombies
***ZOMBIES***
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Wilde & Jung
TEAM NAME: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Bellatrix Wilde
AGE: 50
OCCUPATION: Mad Scientist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Cletus Jung
AGE: 45
OCCUPATION: Monster Psychologist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
Ever since playing Final Fantasy IV and fighting the ultra-insane Dr. Lugae and his bumbling creation Barnabas, I’ve had an obsession with the mad scientist occupation. I went with that angle in 2002 when I created Dr. Scott Cain and Dr. Herman Stan (then known as Dr. James Lugae). After those two raped and sodomized everything in their paths, here I am in early 2011 thinking to myself, “How can I out-crazy those two freaks of nature?” Come on over, Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung. Because as American Bang once said, “We are wild and young! We have just begun!”
In order to out-crazy the likes of Scott Cain and Herman Stan, I had to make these two new characters into 100% Complete Monsters. It was the only way. Bellatrix and Cletus had a daughter together and they molested the shit out of her until she was a legal adult. Not shocked yet? How about the fact that they create and psychological taint monsters for a living and set them loose on the city? Still feeling numb? Then try this shit on for size: these two nut jobs decided to outdo themselves and create Gorgeous George, a slobbering, green blooded, razor fanged, heartless, brainless ogre who would have snapped Cletus Jung’s spine if Bellatrix Wilde wasn’t there to rescue him. It’s so nice to see such a beautiful couple working together…and then having hot tub sex afterwards.
In case Gorgeous George wasn’t doing enough damage to the fictional version of Portland, Cletus and Bellatrix pulled together some money and hired an assassin who’s twice as fucked up as they are, but two decades younger and ten times hotter. Her name was Nina Machete and her only job was to rape the shit out of an autistic trauma patient named Elijah Mellows and give him a goopy black version of the clap. Apparently, Elijah’s testimony would have been enough to lock Bellatrix and Cletus away for a long time, despite the fact that Portland’s police force is running scared.
With so much chaos, blood, and mayhem painting the streets of Portland, there were only so many ways to live under such a society. The first solution was a tragic one that claimed the life of one of Portland’s most profound psychologists: Dr. Charlie Graeme. He was the only hope for this city and even he cracked under pressure, even with the wisdom of a 55-year-old man. Dr. Graeme locked himself in his office and committed suicide via hanging from his work desk. He had no idea how many people cried for him and still wouldn’t know even to this day.
Dr. Charlie Graeme left one last solution for the people of Portland and that would be the second way of coping with the violence: leave the fucking city. You know your city is a crappy place to live when the only solution is to give up and let it burn to the fucking ground. To help with that was a very good friend of Dr. Graeme’s: an intercity bus driver named Kelly O’Brien. Her bus driving skills alone would be enough to transport the remaining population of Portland out of the city and to literally a tropical paradise. Elijah Mellows, who was riding in the seat right behind Kelly, led the passengers in singing “They Dance Alone” by Sting. That heartwarming moment alone was enough to bring hope to traumatized citizens of a citywide madhouse.
But whatever happened to Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung, the original two subjects of this blog post? Remember what I said about letting Portland burn to the ground? Well, legend has it that the chaos the two scientists have caused was so out of hand that the city did indeed collapse on itself and take those two nitwits with them. That’s what the legend says. Nobody knows for sure because nobody wants to go over there to find out and possibly get eaten by Gorgeous George. Or sodomized by Wilde and Jung, one of those two.
There are three reasons why Wilde & Jung was a flop. One, it was only 11 chapters long, which meant only so many words, which meant no agent would take it, so I didn’t try. Secondly, the style of writing I employed at the time could only be described as a hyperbolic joke every other sentence, which amounted to awkward and generally shitty writing on my part. But the third reason is the one that’s most important: because nobody likes Complete Monsters. Even the most hardcore horror fans will tell you that these kinds of characters are hard to deal with. There are devout BDSM practitioners who despise Christian Grey; that’s saying a lot! So if Wilde and Jung ever get the band back together, maybe I could tone down the CM level just a little bit.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“’More than happy.’ People like to say that a lot, don’t they. ‘Oh, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you.’ Doesn’t that sound like some kind of mental disease to you? ‘Aw, man, we had to lock him up in the loony bin. He just wasn’t right in the head. He was…more than happy!’”
-George Carlin-
NAME: Bellatrix Wilde
AGE: 50
OCCUPATION: Mad Scientist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Cletus Jung
AGE: 45
OCCUPATION: Monster Psychologist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
Ever since playing Final Fantasy IV and fighting the ultra-insane Dr. Lugae and his bumbling creation Barnabas, I’ve had an obsession with the mad scientist occupation. I went with that angle in 2002 when I created Dr. Scott Cain and Dr. Herman Stan (then known as Dr. James Lugae). After those two raped and sodomized everything in their paths, here I am in early 2011 thinking to myself, “How can I out-crazy those two freaks of nature?” Come on over, Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung. Because as American Bang once said, “We are wild and young! We have just begun!”
In order to out-crazy the likes of Scott Cain and Herman Stan, I had to make these two new characters into 100% Complete Monsters. It was the only way. Bellatrix and Cletus had a daughter together and they molested the shit out of her until she was a legal adult. Not shocked yet? How about the fact that they create and psychological taint monsters for a living and set them loose on the city? Still feeling numb? Then try this shit on for size: these two nut jobs decided to outdo themselves and create Gorgeous George, a slobbering, green blooded, razor fanged, heartless, brainless ogre who would have snapped Cletus Jung’s spine if Bellatrix Wilde wasn’t there to rescue him. It’s so nice to see such a beautiful couple working together…and then having hot tub sex afterwards.
In case Gorgeous George wasn’t doing enough damage to the fictional version of Portland, Cletus and Bellatrix pulled together some money and hired an assassin who’s twice as fucked up as they are, but two decades younger and ten times hotter. Her name was Nina Machete and her only job was to rape the shit out of an autistic trauma patient named Elijah Mellows and give him a goopy black version of the clap. Apparently, Elijah’s testimony would have been enough to lock Bellatrix and Cletus away for a long time, despite the fact that Portland’s police force is running scared.
With so much chaos, blood, and mayhem painting the streets of Portland, there were only so many ways to live under such a society. The first solution was a tragic one that claimed the life of one of Portland’s most profound psychologists: Dr. Charlie Graeme. He was the only hope for this city and even he cracked under pressure, even with the wisdom of a 55-year-old man. Dr. Graeme locked himself in his office and committed suicide via hanging from his work desk. He had no idea how many people cried for him and still wouldn’t know even to this day.
Dr. Charlie Graeme left one last solution for the people of Portland and that would be the second way of coping with the violence: leave the fucking city. You know your city is a crappy place to live when the only solution is to give up and let it burn to the fucking ground. To help with that was a very good friend of Dr. Graeme’s: an intercity bus driver named Kelly O’Brien. Her bus driving skills alone would be enough to transport the remaining population of Portland out of the city and to literally a tropical paradise. Elijah Mellows, who was riding in the seat right behind Kelly, led the passengers in singing “They Dance Alone” by Sting. That heartwarming moment alone was enough to bring hope to traumatized citizens of a citywide madhouse.
But whatever happened to Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung, the original two subjects of this blog post? Remember what I said about letting Portland burn to the ground? Well, legend has it that the chaos the two scientists have caused was so out of hand that the city did indeed collapse on itself and take those two nitwits with them. That’s what the legend says. Nobody knows for sure because nobody wants to go over there to find out and possibly get eaten by Gorgeous George. Or sodomized by Wilde and Jung, one of those two.
There are three reasons why Wilde & Jung was a flop. One, it was only 11 chapters long, which meant only so many words, which meant no agent would take it, so I didn’t try. Secondly, the style of writing I employed at the time could only be described as a hyperbolic joke every other sentence, which amounted to awkward and generally shitty writing on my part. But the third reason is the one that’s most important: because nobody likes Complete Monsters. Even the most hardcore horror fans will tell you that these kinds of characters are hard to deal with. There are devout BDSM practitioners who despise Christian Grey; that’s saying a lot! So if Wilde and Jung ever get the band back together, maybe I could tone down the CM level just a little bit.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“’More than happy.’ People like to say that a lot, don’t they. ‘Oh, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you.’ Doesn’t that sound like some kind of mental disease to you? ‘Aw, man, we had to lock him up in the loony bin. He just wasn’t right in the head. He was…more than happy!’”
-George Carlin-
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