Keffals: One of My Many YouTube Crushes

 

Amy Lee: Fairweather Fans Come and Go, But True Love Is Forever, Which Was Why She Married Josh Hartzler

 

Love From a Safe Distance

VERSE 1

The roads are closed, nowhere to go

Bury my eyes in the blue light glow

Watching her talk with an angel’s voice

About democracy and being pro-choice

I hang on her words in a loving embrace

Rosy pink cheeks and a grin on my face

Call it simping or whatever you please

Excuse me while I sigh in a gentle breeze

PRE-CHORUS

When I went to bed

She stayed in my head

And this is what she said

CHORUS 1

I live in Canada and I love you

Buy a plane ticket and dinner for two

We can dance in the city streets

Nervous? I’ll wrap you in flannel sheets

None of my fans should ever be alone

It’s time for you to shed that heart of stone

You wake up and find I was never there

But parasocial love just can’t compare

VERSE 2

She reads my favorite books, writes some of her own

In an army of fan boys, I never feel alone

Brought together by the diamonds in her eyes

But only one of us will get past the other guys

She’s got a husband and needs nobody else

But we can still try to be lovers ourselves

We could head to the bar, maybe touch some grass

“Notice me, Senpai! I’m your favorite in class!”

PRE-CHORUS

When I went to bed

She stayed in my head

And this is what she said

CHORUS 2

I live in England and I love you

Cross the waters if you love me too

We can hold hands in the scary darkness

Rest your head in my lap, listen to pop artists

I’m sorry you spend your nights all alone

But I’m a call away on the telephone

You wake up and find it was all a dream

The coldness of it all makes you want to scream

BRIDGE

This isn’t E-Harmony, that’s what they all say

It’s not Plenty of Fish, so get the hell away

It’s not Tinder, don’t think she’s here to play

She doesn’t know you nor would she want to

CHORUS 3

I live in Australia and I love you

I never said that, so don’t call me a prude

Get some medication, not a worldwide vacation

Stay in your own cozy little bitty nation

I’ll block you forever, so this is goodbye

I don’t even know why you had to try

To get in my life, I’m already a wife

Sorry for your broken dreams and mockery memes

Fresh Out of Choices

 VERSE 1

“Start at the bottom, work your way to the top

What’re you waiting for? There’re floors to mop”

Yeah, like a janitor has any upward mobility

This ain’t a meritocracy, this ain’t about ability

“No experience necessary, but no rookies please

We pay minimum wage, but expect a pay freeze”

Ain’t no boss in town who wants to welcome me

That would actually require a little empathy

CHORUS

I’m fresh out of choices

I’m just an annoyance

To the quasi-elite

Who hand out defeats

VERSE 2

“Don’t crush on You Tubers, they’ll break your heart

The distance between you two is light-years apart

Get out of the house and try to talk to people

I’m sure you’ll find a sweetie pie who’s your equal”

Good advice, Tiffany, but there’s just one problem

I get more cold shoulders than the winds of autumn

I get more cold feet than streaking in Siberia

My awkwardness alone sends them running in hysteria

CHORUS

I’m fresh out of choices

I’m just an annoyance

To the quasi-elite

Who hand out defeats

VERSE 3

“If you want to be successful, write every single day

If you want to get noticed, all you’ve got to do is pray”

Okay, Deborah, but you know I’ve got to ask

How do I pull energy right out of my own ass?

“Get your ass out of bed and do some sit-ups

Only then can you be a smoke show and a pinup”

Okay, Kevin, but the real question that I’ve got

Is how can I be something that I’m clearly not?

EXTENDED CHORUS

I’m fresh out of choices

I’m just an annoyance

To the quasi-elite

Who hand out defeats

I blocked out the noises

Glass-shattering voices

Their ignorance angers

Fuck all of the danger

Head Over Heels

I can’t ignore you any longer

My attraction to you is stronger

Lord knows I’ve tried to run

Lord knows I was all but done

To say my crush never happened

Doesn’t give me satisfaction

Doesn’t bring me mental peace

Cure my sadness in the least

By being honest with myself

I’m taking control of my health

Isn’t that what love is all about?

Why plant the seeds of doubt?

Because it feels so damn wrong?

It doesn’t make a good song?

People can’t stop laughing?

It’s a sin to just be happy?

I’m sick of lying to myself

Pretending to be someone else

I’m allowed to say, “I love you”

I know these words to be true

Head over heels and unashamed

Nothing can ever be the same

Broken heart can always restart

Even when ripped clean apart

One of these days I’ll say it to you

I’ve got nothing left inside to lose

Yes or no? Please think about it

Even if your answer is to shout it

Only then will I figure it out

Was it right of me to doubt?

Were my feelings valid all along?

Or have I always been so wrong?

Muse of the Year 2019

***MUSE OF THE YEAR 2019***

Last summer I wrote a blog entry about how every year I have a new muse to inspire my creative work. Why every year? Who knows? This muse is always female and can be a pro-wrestler, actress, singer, or even a fictional character. My one rule for choosing muses is not to use people I know in real life (at least by internet standards). If these people knew I was crushing on them for creativity, I’d probably get sued or slapped with a restraining order. Pretty extreme reaction, but it’s the likeliest of scenarios. Celebrities or fictional characters only. Fictional characters don’t give two shits if you’re crushing on them. And celebrities? Chances are they don’t even know who the fuck I am. You think 2013’s Muse of the Year Ronda Rousey is just randomly perusing my Deviant Art account or blog to see what I think of her? Bullshit, she ain’t going anywhere near my social media. She’s got a lot on her mind, like trying to figure out a way to get a rematch with Becky Lynch after the botched ending to their triple threat match at Wrestlemania.

Last year’s muse was of course Sarah-Jane Redmond, the woman who played Lucy Butler in the 1990’s TV show Millennium. I’m sure Sarah-Jane is a wonderful human being in real life, but her character Lucy haunted my creative daydreams for the whole fucking year in 2018. If not for her, first draft novels like Silent Warrior, Beautiful Monster, and Incelbordination wouldn’t have seen the light of day. Obsessing over seduction will do that to a creative soul. Considering I’m in the process of rewriting Beautiful Monster from the ground up, I’d say Ms. Redmond was a pretty effective muse.

And now that 2018 is in the rear-view mirror, who’s going to be my muse for 2019? Well, this particular woman has been active in burlesque performances since the early 90’s, so that’s a plus. A burlesque dancer being an effective muse? Who would’ve thunk it? In terms of physical appearances and sexual appetite, this woman shares some similarities with Lucy Butler. In terms of alignment, however, they could not be more different. Instead of seducing young men into becoming mediocre versions of themselves, this muse brings the best out of every man she meets. She exudes class, calmness, and positivity. She’s more than a pretty face. She lives her sexy gimmick in her everyday life. She even joked about bathing in her lingerie. She’d totally do that. Without further ado, let me introduce you all to Garrison Kelly’s 2019 Muse of the Year: Dita Von Teese.

For some this is a controversial decision on my part. I accept that. I’ve heard the stories about her relationship with Marilyn Manson. I’ve heard stories about alleged arrogance. I’ve even heard something about her being proud of having her image painted on a drone bomb. I don’t know the intricate details of those stories and quite frankly I’m not going to try and find out. The Dita Von Teese I know and love is calm in the face of sleazy interview questions. She exits her relationships without lusting after her ex’s money or possessions. Just watching her give interviews on You Tube makes me want to up my creative game. Yes, her negative stories could be true, but before I even have the chance to find out, I’m going to enjoy her image for what it is: classic beauty that never goes out of style.

And as long as we’re talking about blog entries from yesteryear, I’m sure most of you remember one I’ve posted about fan fiction group therapy, where fictional characters talk about their feelings while rocking out to heavy metal and eating high calorie foods. Well, I thought it’d be a crazy, yet good idea to have sex therapy as part of this healing process. Whether this fictional character needs a cuddle session, a back massage, or something more, I’m sure it’ll serve a greater purpose beyond me fantasizing about weird shit. Guess who will be the chief sex therapist at Crystal Mountain, as I’ve called the mental health center? You guessed it: Dita Von Teese. Except her character won’t be called that. Her character will named after a little known Pink Floyd song from the early 70’s. No, it’s not Arnold Layne, you dumb shits! It’s Julia Dream! Mmmmmm, Julia Dream. Dreamboat queen. Queen of all my dreams. She’d make an awesome sex therapist.

So what kinds of works could she inspire with her positive and loving aura? What kinds of stories could I write that would exude happiness, lightheartedness, or at the very least psychological recovery? Well, I’m not so sure using Dita Von Teese as inspiration would have been appropriate for this, but Emilio and the Scratching Post is one such positive story. I plan on submitting it to an anthology called Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim. That title alone should be enough to clue you in on how lighthearted these stories are. And of course, it doesn’t get more lighthearted than a cuddly old man kitty looking for permanent love.

But until I get that story cleaned up spic and span, there’s no reason why Dita Von Teese can’t be the inspiration for continuing the new version of Beautiful Monster. I can’t picture her being in the same shadow as Shelly Atwood, though. Shelly seduces men (and women) to their own doom, Dita seduces them to greatness. She could be in the same shadow as either Tarja Rikkinen or Llewellyn Xavier. Well, more likely Tarja because Llewellyn is Windham’s sister and it’d be weird if the elf queen tried to seduce her own brother. This ain’t Game of Thrones, motherfucker. It also ain’t Preacher.

I’ve wondered since last year who 2019’s Muse of the Year would be and now I have my answer: a burlesque dancer who’s more than just good looks. She turns beauty and nostalgia into an art form. And yes, she inspires me to do better in my creative work. It’s almost like I’m trying to impress Dita despite the fact that she’ll never find me online. Hmm….Anyways, I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing Crystal Mountain! And while you’re at it, chug some Crystal Mountain Dew and find your serotonin levels!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I’m in a cold sweat, I panic, and it makes me late. I know you never asked for this. I know my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I get the heebie-jeebies and my panic makes me late. I break into a cold sweat reaching for the phone. I let it ring twice before I chicken out and decide you’re not at home. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I never noticed the size of my feet until I kicked you in the shins. Will you ever forgive me for the shape I’m in? Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I want to write you a sonnet, but I don’t know where to start. I’m so used to laughing at the things in my heart. Last of all, I’m sorry, ‘cause you never asked for this. I can see I’m not your type and my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you.”

-The Police singing “Does Everyone Stare?”-

It's Okay to Be Single

***IT’S OKAY TO BE SINGLE***

Valentine’s Day is on the horizon, a horizon covered by about ten inches of falling snow, by the way. For those who are single, Valentine’s Day is the hardest holiday to get through because it seems as though your non-existent relationship status is being rubbed in your face. I know this, because I too am single and I hated this holiday for the longest time. I wish someone had told me back in those romantically lonely days that…it’s okay to be single. I know it’s hard for some people to believe that the world won’t judge you if you are, but if it’s a comfort to you at all, I’m the very last person in this world who will judge you for being single. I won’t even judge you for being a virgin. Involuntarily celibate is an entirely different story, but still, you get my drift.

When you learn to let go of this idea that romance is a necessity, you’ll feel as though the weight of the world is finally off of your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you can’t get into a relationship somewhere down the line, but if you obsess over it all the time, then it’ll hurt you emotionally. A lot of the pain from my university days stemmed from being single and wanting someone I could never have. I crushed on Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish, and it hurt me constantly that I couldn’t have her. Even when I crushed on women within my location and economic means, I was too shy to approach them because I didn’t want them to be offended by my presence. I carried this pain for a long time, long after I graduated from college.

The idea of letting go of my obsession was insane to me, which I now realize is an ironic thing for a schizophrenic like me to say, but oh well. Why was I so obsessed? Was it a combination of teenaged hormones and having my first slow dance at 15? Was it a long-distance relationship I had in 2002 and 2003 where I desperately wanted to close that gap? Was it my first kiss in 2014? Was it being seduced by random women at rock concerts in 2016 and 2018? Those brain chemicals are addictive as hell, I agree. Any addiction makes letting go a difficult thing.

But when I finally let go earlier this year, I asked myself a series of questions that had “duh” answers all along. Would being in a relationship truly make me happy? Would having sex for the first time be as magical as books and movies make it out to be? What exactly are the consequences supposed to be for staying single? When the time finally comes to be in a relationship, will I be prepared or will anxiety take over my senses? Truth is, not everyone who’s in a relationship is happy, as evidenced by divorce rates, abusive situations, and constant fighting even when things are going great. First time sex ends too quickly, or so I’ve heard. There are no consequences for being single. I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for a relationship, so my anxiety and nervousness around women won’t dissipate.

None of this means that I don’t believe in romance. It doesn’t mean that if a woman asked me on a date, I would automatically reject her. It simply means that I won’t form unhealthy crushes or obsess over something unattainable. My emotional health means everything to me. It’s the reason why I’m able to sustain a writing career and an overall peaceful life. If I’m constantly in a state of unhappiness, then I don’t care how many poems and stories I write, because I can never satiate those obsessive desires. I wrote three first draft novels this year, all of them centering on my obsession with romance. While I’m grateful for the creative exercises, I can get the same result and probably more work done if I’m happy about life instead of miserable.

It’s particularly bad when you’re in love with a celebrity, especially one that’s been around since your teenaged years. You spend all of this time pining over and dreaming of them. Even when you realize it could never be, you obsess more and more until it ruins your state of mind. You carry this unhappiness with you into adulthood and by that time your celebrity crush is much older than you are. Everybody ages, everybody moves on, and you must do so too.

If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what to do, just treat it like any other day of the week. Do some creative work. Get some reading done. Draw a picture. Order a pizza. Watch a movie. Do something other than give into your unrealistic obsessions. You’re responsible for your own happiness. Treat yourself kindly. Don’t beat yourself up. Take good care of your mind. You only get one in this lifetime, so be good to it and don’t drive yourself insane. If you must get into a relationship, keep it healthy and happy and don’t be codependent. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Rewriting this story has been a slow process with many gap days in between the work days. You can thank my constant sleepiness for that. But fear not, because before 2019 is over, I will have this novel finished and published. The next chapter to be written will be number twelve, where Windham and Tarja deliver the blueprints to Shelly’s castle to their boss, Orpheus Rinehart. Will the boss man be grateful or will he reward his employees with a year-long membership in the Jelly of the Month Club? It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. You get a cookie if you know what movie that’s from.

***PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You will find that if you get with reality, all thoughts of delusions disappear. But you must remember that the secret to all of this is not to be afraid of fear. When you can really allow yourself to be afraid, and you don't resist the experience of fear, you are truly beginning to master fear. But when you refuse to be afraid, you are resisting fear, and that simply sets up a vicious circle of being afraid of fear of being afraid of being afraid of fear. If then you try to obliterate fear, you're working in the wrong way. To attack at fear is to strengthen it. As if you were God, that is to say, you don't trust anybody and you're the dictator and you have to keep everybody in line, you lose the divine then. 'Cause what you're doing is simply defending yourself. So then the principle is the more you give it away, the more it comes back. The meaning of the fact we see that everything is dissolving constantly, we're all falling apart. We're all in a process of constant death. Then you truly understand that you don't have to let go because there's nothing to hold on to.”

-Alan Watts-

Walk in the Rain

The nighttime rainfall tapped against Cassandra Bride’s office window while she sipped her peppermint tea. Christmas lights strewn above her ceiling illuminated an otherwise dark atmosphere. She smiled while relaxing into her favorite office chair. Such a peaceful time of night. She should have been in bed with a Lilian Jackson Braun novel and a kitty. Deep inside, she knew this conversation had to take place and it couldn’t wait until a brighter morning.

She took one last sip of tea before there was a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said. Slogging through the office in a soaking wet hooded jacket was Jarrod Crews, a young man with short black hair and a Seether T-shirt underneath his rainwear. He removed his coat and hung it up on the rack in the corner, not even bothering to dry it off. His social skills were always a mess, so at least a drippy coat was forgivable.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Jarrod while taking a seat across from his acting teacher.

Cassandra laid her cup of tea on the desk and waved as if it was no big deal. “It’s not your fault, Jarrod. It’s wet out there. If I would have known you didn’t have a car, I would have dispatched another student to give you a ride. Any moment now we should start getting thunder storms.”

Jarrod’s eyes darted from side to side while he fidgeted with hangnails on his thumb. “So…do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Of course, of course I do. But first I want to thank you for agreeing to see me tonight in my office. I’m sorry you had to walk through a rainstorm, but this actually is a pretty important topic.” Cassandra cleared her throat and straightened the straps on her black dress before leaning forward with her hands supporting her chin.

“Am…am I in trouble?” asked Jarrod with a jittery voice, either from the cold weather outside or his own nervousness.

Cassandra breathed a deep sigh and hesitated before starting the necessary conversation. “Jarrod…is has come to my attention that you have some ulterior motives for signing up for my acting class. Like the rest of your classmates, you probably saw me in the made-for-TV movie My Gift to You, where I played a demonic seductress. The only difference is, you took your fandom a little too far. You can deny it all you want, but Mr. Crews…I believe the only reason you signed up for my class was so you could be close to me. You have no other classes in your schedule. This is your first quarter at Kelly University. The pieces are all there. You got caught…by me.”

Jarrod nearly jumped out of his skin when the first lightning bolt flashed outside. His breathing was labored, but for a far different reason than the combination electromancy and aeromancy going on. “Who told you all of this?”

“Your own mother, Jarrod. She called here the other day to have a chat with me about your…extracurricular activities. She read me passages from your diary. She logged onto your computer and found pictures that have no earthly business being there. Jarrod, this is not okay. I don’t feel safe around you anymore. You know where this is leading, right?” Tiny droplets welled up in the student’s eyes. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jarrod slapped his legs and gave a short, sorrowful laugh through his tears. “I mean…you’re not wrong. You caught me red-handed. So, that’s that, right? I should just go back to my dorm and pack my suitcase?”

Just as Jarrod stood up, Cassandra motioned with her hand for him to sit back down. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Not just yet. There’s a lot more to discuss than just a simple expulsion.”

The student slowly sat back down and chewed on his fingertips while smiling sadly and shaking his head. “What else is there to discuss? You have everything you need. My own mother basically ratted me out to you.” Jarrod held his face in his hand and sobbed a little bit. “You’re getting way too much pleasure out of this, Mrs. Bride.”

“You’re wrong, Jarrod. There’s absolutely no joy in this for me. For all intents and purposes, you were a hardworking student who gave A+ performances when you needed to. This hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

The crumbling student man-spread his legs and tucked his head down as he tried to find the resolve to continue this conversation. The wetness in his face, the redness in his cheeks, he was easy pickings for Cassandra Bride. She had to admit that he put on a hell of a performance, yet again.

“I’m not talking about you expelling me from school. That part I get,” blubbered Jarrod through heavy breaths. “But why did you have to go behind my back like that? You got my own mother to throw me under the bus. For what?”

“She didn’t throw you under the bus, Jarrod. She called me that day because she’s worried about you. Like I said, this isn’t just an open and shut case that can be solved with expulsion. Aside from your sexual obsession with me, there’s more than she told me about you.”

“Oh god,” stammered Jarrod as he chewed on his fingertips some more.

Taking a sip of hot tea, Cassandra said, “Your mother tells me that you have a hard time making new friends. She says you’re depressed and isolated all the time, so instead of forming real relationships, you hover around me and feed your fantasies that way. She tells me that it’s been a while since you’ve seen your therapist.”

“Okay, enough! Enough!” snapped Jarrod while holding his hands up defensively. Another lightning strike flashed in the sky, but he refused to be deterred. “I get it! I’m an emotional train wreck! And yes, I do have a hard time meeting new people. You know why? Because every time I think I have something, my mom and dad take it away from me when they move to a new place. And then what do I do? Start over? Take another chance? Bullshit!”

“You know, Jarrod, you can do something about that. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. If you don’t want to move around to different cities all the time, then you can just…”

“I can just what? Find my own place? Have you seen how much an apartment costs these days? Have you seen the job market lately? There’s nothing out there for me, unless you consider sleeping at a bus station and begging for handouts to be good living.”

Cassandra set her tea down again and wheeled her office chair towards a crumbling Jarrod Crews. She placed her hand on his shoulder and elicited an, “Oh god!” response from him.

“Listen,” she said. “I know it’s tough out there. When I left my acting career and became a teacher, I didn’t know anybody here at Kelly University. I was scared just as you are now. But ultimately, you have two choices. You can move back in with your parents and have financial security and love for as long as you need it…or you can swallow your pride and find potential roommates with the friends you make here. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jarrod. Either choice is a valid one, but when you make that decision, you need to reap all of the benefits that come with it. I get it. You need love. We all do.”

Jarrod wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirt sleeve and said, “I know you told me that we have a lot to discuss…but this is getting really fucking awkward, Mrs. Bride. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m not even sure expulsion would be a bad thing for me. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just grab my coat and fuck off forever.”

Just as Jarrod stood up to grab his coat, Cassandra offered, “Are you sure you don’t want a ride back to your dorm? Trust me, you don’t want to walk in the rain a second time tonight.”

The lonely student looked down at his shoes and sighed. “You know what? I think I prefer getting hit by lightning over having another awkward conversation with you, Mrs. Bride.”

An even louder thunderbolt shook the skies as well as Jarrod’s foundations as he jumped skittishly yet again. Cassandra asked, “Are you sure about that, Jarrod?”

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly. “Well, you know what they say: you’re more likely to be killed by a terrorist than you are to be struck by lightning.”

Cassandra smiled amusedly. “No, no, no, Jarrod, you’ve got that bass ackwards. You’re more likely to be hit by lightning than you are to be killed by a terrorist.”

“…Really?....Oh…Well…What if it’s an incel terrorist?”

“Then your chances slightly increase, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, I’d rather you allow me to give you a ride back to your dorm instead of getting rained on again.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who said you didn’t feel comfortable being around me?” asked Jarrod.

Cassandra sighed and tucked her head while her now ex-student put his jacket on and ventured outside in the pouring rain. “Was I too hard on him?” she asked herself. Not even the delicious flavor of her peppermint tea could relax her on this one. Everything that could have gone wrong in this “important conversation” did go wrong. She lost a great student, Jarrod lost an opportunity to open up, and everything got incredibly awkward. But Murphy’s Law didn’t stop there…

Another bolt of lightning tore up the sky, but this time the sounds of Jarrod wiggling and screaming echoed throughout the rainy weather. “Oh my god!” gasped Cassandra as she dropped her now shattered teacup on the floor. Even wearing high heels, she managed to bolt out of her office and lend her help to a now jittering Jarrod Crews.

There he laid convulsing violently with wide eyes and a foaming mouth. Now it was Cassandra Bride’s turn to lose a few tears as she held her hand to her mouth in shock. She knelt beside him and cradled his head in her lap. “I’m so sorry, Jarrod! I’m sorry!”

Even with a shivering body, Jarrod managed to form a complete and coherent sentence with a smile on his face. “So this is what it’s like to be held by somebody…I never knew that before…” Cold, miserable, and electrocuted, Jarrod’s head flopped over and his eyes rolled back in his head. Cassandra placed two fingers on his neck vein and felt no pulse surging through him, just electricity. He died taking a little piece of heaven with him before he went.

Cassandra teared up some more as she hugged Jarrod Crews’s lifeless skull. During her moment of apologetic cuddling, she noticed two wire prongs attached to his chest that led to a stun gun lying on the ground next to him. Scratched onto the weapon was a message as clear as the day that would come: “Incel Pride Worldwide”.

The actress’s sorrow turned into jaw-quivering fear at the revelation that her student was murdered. She could hear footsteps running away on the concrete sidewalk, but it was too dark to make out who they belonged to. By the time the perp was illuminated by the streetlamp, he had already turned a corner and hightailed it out of there.

What if there were more of them? Who else signed up for Cassandra Bride’s class under false pretenses? Was Jarrod Crews the only intended victim? What if…she was next? These thoughts raced violently through her head, which was now cradled in her own hands in a lame attempt to contain her fear. “I’ve got to get the hell out of here…I can’t stay anymore…”

You Hate Me 'Cause I Love You

VERSE 1

If I put this out into the universe

Will you be the one who hurts?

If I say this to your lovely face

Would it invade your personal space?

If I told you I loved you until the end

Would you cease to be my best friend?

Is it worth taking the biggest chance

Or will I fumble and fall on my ass?

CHORUS 1

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to walk out of sight

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to call it a night

VERSE 2

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you

But everything I said was true

I don’t take any of my words back

I’ll take them deep into the black

CHORUS 2

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to end the whole thing

You hate me ‘cause I love you

My broken heart forever sings

VERSE 3

My eyes are open, yet full of tears

Planned this confession for many years

Went against my instincts and worst fears

I see it all, it’s now so vivid and clear

I should have kept this to myself

Loneliness is no good for my health

Got desperate and made a mistake

Watched you cry, watched your heart break

CHORUS 3

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll pack my bags and fuck off

You hate me ‘cause I love you

How could I be so damn soft?

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll get my ass on an airplane

You hate me ‘cause I love you

Anything to keep you sane

Incelbordination, Chapter 19

The stitches on Oswald’s foot were healing quite nicely. Not as much redness, not nearly as swollen as it once was, the pain was minimal at worst, yet he still felt the need to keep his medical boot on for a few more weeks. Plus, it felt weird staring at his own foot considering he was once caught staring at Valerie’s feet mid-lecture.

The little guy, while sitting on his bed, put the boot back on and hobbled toward his computer desk. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to look up first. Were his grades coming in yet? Did he need information about Jessica Bradley’s funeral (if she had one at all)? Did he need to spend some quality time on Porn Hub? Oswald’s mind raced so much in those few moments that he couldn’t come up with a decent answer. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked.

While he couldn’t solve that Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers drummed against the desk as he got an idea of what he wanted. With Antero supposedly behind bars, was Incelbordination still a thing? Did most of their members get arrested too? Was there any truth in cutting off the head of the viper or did it just create a power vacuum for even more rabid members to fight over? Oswald typed Incelbordination in a Google search engine and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Any legitimate news stories covering this terrorist attack were overshadowed by jilted male virgins voicing their displeasure at Antero’s arrest. Some of these young men called for “The blood of Chads and Stacys everywhere” and how “A few dead college bitches aren’t enough!” Some of these dorks hailed Antero Magnus as a greater civil rights hero than the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. One kid suggested building a bronze statue of Antero raping a cheerleader and erecting it downtown for everyone to see.

Bile rose in Oswald’s throat, but he knew puking all over his computer would dislocate his ribs even further. His mind swirled with questions asking over and over again what the fuck was wrong with these people. His head lightened like a balloon ready to pop. He was so dizzy that he failed to notice a familiar feminine voice calling his name until the last second.

He jumped around in his chair and saw Nikita standing in his doorway with a few bags of pot in tow. Her face seemed to be lacking in color as well as she struggled to say, “I refilled your medication for you, Oswald.”

“Uh…thanks…I, uh…really appreciate that,” said the dwarf while shifting his eyes. Nikita’s own eyes widened as she tilted her head to get a better view of Oswald’s computer screen. “What? What is it?” Suddenly realizing why she gasped and held her mouth shut, he scrambled to find an explanation. “It’s not what you think, Nikita! You have to believe me!”

Dropping the bags of marijuana on the floor, Nikita stammered, “You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.” She attempted to storm out of the building, but Oswald hobbled after her while pleading with her to wait and allow him to explain.

The mini-chase led the two of them to the sidewalk where Nikita sat on the curb trying to collect her tears. Oswald stopped for a moment to let his foot stitches heal, but it was really to take in the stomach-knotting sight of this beautiful lady crying before him. No, not just any beautiful lady. It was the woman he had a crush on for so long and now he offended her by virtue of his internet history.

He limped towards her and attempted to put a hand on her shoulder only to have it swatted away. “No! Don’t touch me, Oswald,” Nikita cried. Silence befell both of them for several heart-wrenchingly tense seconds. Time itself stood still, not unlike Oswald, whose rising anxiety prevented him from comforting her. Nikita wiped away more tears and ranted, “You mean to tell me after all of this time and after all the positive messages sent your way that you still feel the need to identify with those…monsters?! Are you that starved for attention?”

Putting his hands up defensively, Oswald calmly said, “Please, let me explain. I wasn’t looking up those threads for the reason that you think. I needed to know if Incelbordination was still active and…as you just saw…” He tucked his head in defeat, not knowing what else to say to her.

Nikita turned her head to face the sullen Oswald and said, “Of course they’re still active. Sure, they have people who hate their guts, but they also have supporters. Lots of them. There are people who support Al Queda. There are people who support Nazis and the KKK and the Westboro Baptist Church. You’re not going to change everybody’s mind just because one of their prominent figures is behind bars.” She stood up and held Oswald’s hands in her own. “These zealots are stuck in their ways, Oswald. You don’t want to get involved with people like that. If anything, they’re even more motivated now that they have a hero to look up to.”

“Nikita…you have to believe me. I don’t want to be a part of Incelbordination. That’s not who I am. I may be lonely and depressed all the time, but it would never occur to me to take the measures Antero has. In fact…I think that man is a fucking scumbag…He hurt me just as much as he hurt everyone else. That’s why I’m banged up right now. I don’t want to join him. I want to bury him.”

In the midst of this handholding, Oswald hotly debated in his own mind whether that moment was the right time to make his move. He could end his loneliness forever by taking a chance. She couldn’t be any more hurt than she was at that moment. What was a little hand petting going to do? He did just that…and Nikita jerked her hands away and asked, “What are you doing?”

Oswald once again tucked his head in shame and profusely apologized for his come-on. His heart thudded in agony and all he wanted to do was retreat back into his dorm and sleep off the rest of the day. But just as he turned around, Nikita placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I can’t do it, Oswald. I’m married.”

“…What? You’ve been…I mean…you’re not wearing a ring.”

Nikita knelt down to Oswald’s level and explained, “I know. I had to sell it in order to pay for tuition. My husband had to sell his ring too for his own expenses. I’m not just telling you these things to try and get away from you. If I’m going to believe you’re not an incel terrorist looking for someone to murder, then you need to believe that I’m happily married to the man I love. And of course, I wouldn’t be married to him if I didn’t trust him completely. You and I? We need to trust each other too. I’m not making excuses, Oswald.”

The dwarf face-palmed and shook his head before taking a seat on the curb. The silence between the two friends was heavy enough to crunch Oswald’s ribcage all over again, as if his broken heart didn’t do enough damage in that regard. “So what’s his name?” he finally asked.

“His name is Bill. He goes to school here. He’s a student athlete.”

“Figures.”

Hands on her hips and eyebrows downward, she asked, “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

Oswald sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that…whenever I hear the words student athlete, I can’t help but think of guys like Wacey Judge. I don’t have the best track record for getting along with them seeing as how…I was…” He wiped away a singular tear. “I was almost killed in high school.”

Her face softening, Nikita placed her hands on Oswald’s shoulders and said, “Bill is not a stereotypical jock, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You’d like him too. He is definitely not a Chad, so don’t even go there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nikita sighed. “Listen, I just came by here to drop off your medicine. I have to get going now. Bill’s picking me up for a dinner date in half an hour. If you’re ever feeling lonely or you need a friend to talk to…don’t ever go back to those incel message boards.”

“Wouldn’t dream of that either.”

Nikita patted Oswald on the head and said her goodbyes before turning heel and walking away. The dwarf continued sitting on the curb even though the couch in his dorm room was a more comfortable option. How could he get up with his heavy heart weighing him down? How could he send another storm of pain through his body just to retreat into his personal space?

Instead he just buried his face in his knees and allowed his tears to drop like summer rain. He didn’t give a damn if anybody was watching. Chances were good they didn’t care if he got his heart broken anyways. Piling that on top of Jessica’s death, Antero’s transgressions, and his own battle-scarred body and he could have just slept on the sidewalk all he wanted. Concrete? A mattress? What was the fucking difference when he felt bad either way?

Sex Surrogate

VERSE 1

It’s been forever since our last session

Not much going on that’s worth mention

I still coast through life at a turtle’s pace

I still have my famous Resting Bitch Face

Should’ve called you when I had the chance

Not much happening in the way of romance

How many more sessions am I allowed to have?

Can we still meet for at least an hour and a half?

VERSE 2

I’m sorry I’m late, but traffic was a mess

I’m sorry for these excuses I must confess

I got cold feet and stalled for a while

I might as well be walking the green mile

We all know how this session will end

I can’t be cured, but I can make amends

I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be

Whether in bed or in life, nothing is free

VERSE 3

I must admit that I’m starting to like you

I’m sorry if this confession frightens you

I know we can’t have romantic feelings

But it’s a desire which I’ve been feeding

You’re married and happy, I understand

Reciprocation isn’t something I demand

I just had to get it all off my chest today

What a wonderful time to feel so brave

VERSE 4

This isn’t working, give me back my pills

This never ending pain is mine to kill

Sedated and jaded, everything has faded

Nothing left after my ego has deflated

The comfort zone is calling my name

It tells me to stop playing these sex games

It tells me that taking risks is foolish

Maybe I’ll listen until the day I’m ghoulish

Unrequited Love Stereotype, or "That Guy"

***UNREQUITED LOVE STEREOTYPE, OR “THAT GUY”***

In all my time of surfing the internet, I never knew the Urban Dictionary could actually be educational on some occasions. I thought it was just a safe haven for swear words and sex terms like “See You Next Tuesday”, or the clearly made-up “Quaker Cum Meal” (if you don’t know what that is, I’m not going to tell you). The other day when I surfed the Urban Dictionary, I typed in the words “Unrequited Love” and the results were mildly depressing. It’s basically when you love someone (or have a crush on them) and they don’t love you back (either because they don’t know you or don’t give a damn). Every celebrity crush in the world is an example of unrequited love. Every damn one.

When I was going to Western Washington University from 2007 to 2009, my source of unrequited love was Tarja Turunen, the former lead singer from Nightwish. I set the bar pretty high for myself and was let down when my stubby arms couldn’t reach it. So naturally I assumed every local crush was just as high on the bar as well. I wrote tons of essays and poems dedicating my love to this opera metal diva, but I tiptoed around the language used to write them because I didn’t want to be...that guy. I didn’t want to be the stereotypical 300 pounder with a Princess Leia poster on my wall, a Tifa Lockhart photo for a desktop screen, and a sorrowful attitude towards romance. I tried hard not to be an embarrassing version of…that guy. So I kept it all on the inside most of the time.

You know what happens to people who are…that guy, right? Well, the minute they bear their feelings to the world, some yo-yo will sit them down, pat them condescendingly on the shoulder, and give them a familiar speech we’ve all grown tired of. “You know, Garrison…Japan had an earthquake, Haiti had an earthquake, there’s mass starvation in Africa, there’re wars going on in Afghanistan and Iraq…and you’re crying over chicks?” Granted, some of those travesties are dated in today’s world, but you’ve heard that speech, I’m sure. Folks, not one time has anybody thought of worldwide earthquakes and immediately felt like a million bucks about their own problems. The author of “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” makes this clear in his novel (read it, damn you!).

If someone who has been labeled…that guy gets any kind of reward for his awkward and depressing behavior, it will be because of sympathy and no other reason. I didn’t want that for myself either. If I ever decide to date again, I want it to be with someone who genuinely thinks I’m a cool person, not because they feel like they have to. When a girl feels like she has to, it’s not a sign of a healthy relationship. Nobody is obligated to date anybody for any reason, and that’s the way it should be, quite honestly.

Even now, I don’t talk about unrequited love these days because I’m still fighting the urge to be…that guy. I used to talk about it a lot whenever I’d blog about dreams I’ve had or music I’ve listened to. Not anymore. It got old after a while and I had successfully become…that guy. So what happens to people when they refuse to become…that guy and they still don’t have it in them to approach their love interests? They become indifferent to romance. Every once a while the urge will come back, but ultimately, indifference takes over.

If you’d like to know how hard someone has to work to not be…that guy, do me a favor. Get on your computer, smart phone, or smart TV and type in Netflix (or some other movie streaming service). In the search engine, type in the movie “Obselidia” and you’ll find out all about your precious unrequited love. I did a review on this movie once, but I didn’t give away any spoilers. Well, just for this journal, I’m going to spoil the movie for you, so if you enjoy surprises, skip this part of the blog.

George is an introverted librarian who has tasked himself with keeping an encyclopedia of all things obsolete (hence the title “Obselidia”). He even believes romance is obsolete as evidenced by the way he turns down a date from a customer at the library. He’s lonely, but doesn’t want to admit it. And then as part of his research for his encyclopedia, he meets a projectionist named Sophie, who is all bubbles and smiles when it comes to the world. The two of them go on a trip to Death Valley together and get an earful from an environmentalist who believes climate change will destroy our world sooner than later (it actually might, I’m not doubting him).

George is ready to include the whole planet in his encyclopedia, but spending more and more time with Sophie brings the positivity out of him that he needed. They get back to the city and George finally musters up the courage to bring Sophie flowers and confess his love. But when he arrives at her apartment, some guy in the background says, “Who is it, sweetie?” George barricades himself in his own home and refuses to answer Sophie’s pleading messages on his machine. In this one moment of unrequited love, Sophie has managed to squeeze George’s eyeballs dry of tears like she was making the most sorrowful pitcher of orange juice.

Unrequited love is basically a catch 22. If you don’t talk about it, you get hurt. If you do talk about it, you get hurt. Nobody would have blamed George if he sheltered himself forever, yet he manages to keep the positive attitude he gained from his experiences with Sophie. It makes perfect sense as a movie ending, but brain chemistry doesn’t always work like that in the real world. And that’s really all romance is: brain chemistry with an addictive reward system. When you get one kiss from a pretty girl, you want more. And when you don’t get more, you get withdrawal. And when you get withdrawal, you try your hardest not to become…that guy.

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

I’ve been waiting forever for an excuse to write the following short story. Now that the prompt is “butterfly”, I’ve got to strike while the iron is hot. This story is a combination of the WWE Divas Revolution in 2015 and life with cats that I currently have or have taken care of in the past. My mom calls our cats divas all the time (because of how often they want attention), so this short story will be called “Divas”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Piper, Divas Champion
2. Tori, Leader of the Supermodel Kitties
3. Stitches, Enforcer for the Supermodel Kitties
4. Calypso, Rookie from the Supermodel Kitties
5. Willem, Schipperke Referee

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The Divas Championship belt has a butterfly design on it.

SYNOPSIS: In a pro-wrestling organization where the female wrestlers are humanoid cats, Piper is defending her Divas Championship against Tori at a pay-per-view main event. Piper has held the championship for over a year on the platform of making her dreams come true and being a role model for young cats. During their rivalry, the Supermodel Kitties have made Piper’s life miserable by calling her “Piper-Diaper” and other childish middle school names. With Stitches and Calypso to serve as ringside distractions, Piper could very well lose her championship to Tori and disprove the idea that all dreams come true.

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

(Here’s an interaction I’d like to see happen on WWE Monday Night Raw.)

MICHAEL COLE: And here comes Bayley for her one-on-one match!

COREY GRAVES: Keep your hands above the table, Saxton!

BYRON SAXTON: That’s not PG.

Angel of Chehalis

VERSE 1

In the city of burning crosses

We’ve suffered so many losses

In the town of blind-eye bosses

We were figuring out the causes

But you were the one constant

As I laid down watching for comets

Could you be the Angel of Chehalis?

Would stealing your kiss be tasteless?

CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

VERSE 2

You flew away in the dead of night

Deprived this city of your radiant light

I carried my burden with all my might

It’s my cross to bear, no love to share

I walked the earth, but saw no sign

Of the angel from the burning ley line

Are you still the Angel of Chehalis?

Or has this damn city left you jaded?

CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

VERSE 3

Finding heaven in the strangest places

Finding angels in the saddest faces

Finding the living in permanent stasis

Finding the dead lonely and wasted

In the city of burning crosses

I walk away and cut my losses

Until we meet again, Angel of Chehalis

Until this world is a photograph faded

EXTENDED CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

Take my body, take my soul

Take my mind, take total control

Fill the chasms and the black holes

Why must this memory take its toll?

King Blizzard

Jason Clark was getting sick of waiting around. He aggressively rocked in his wooden chair on the front porch while stoically chewing a piece of wheat. The fields before him were bountiful with vegetables and fruit whether it was corn and potatoes or strawberries and watermelons. They all looked mouthwateringly delicious to even the biggest of appetites. These vast fields of food were all thanks to the backbreaking, sweat dripping hard work of the Clark family.

Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”

And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.

There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”

Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”

The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”

The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”

Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”

“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.

“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.

He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.

“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”

In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”

“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.

And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.

As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”

Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.

The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.

In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.

Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.

What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!

Halloween at the Library

What’s your favorite part of Halloween? The mountains of candy? The excuse to put on a costume? Visiting lots of spooky houses? My favorite part of Halloween is the annual Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode. I anticipate these specials so much that I occasionally have dreams about either watching them or being a character in them. Every dream ends the same way: with me cowering away from the end credits where the Gracie Films lady screams her head off in terror before organ music plays.

The Treehouse of Horror episodes can get crazy in a hurry. But why the hell would the guys at Gracie Films do an episode…in a library? Don’t get me wrong, I love to kick back and read like every other geek out there. But this is Halloween. You can’t eat books and get a sugar headache. You might have intestinal problems, but no sugar headache.

It turns out the library was supposed to be a safe haven from the monsters outside who like to eat human beings like the candy that’s supposed to be given out. I didn’t know what kind of monsters they were and I wasn’t anxious to find out. So what does the library do? They keep the patrons safe by isolating them with magical curtains. It’s the introvert’s paradise: a curtain booth with nothing but a good book and a wild imagination.

The curtain booths actually do a good job of keeping me and the Simpson family safe, which is kind of anticlimactic for a Treehouse of Horror episode. I’ll tell you what wasn’t anticlimactic. The library offered patrons the chance to take a quiz to figure out which musician has a crush on us. When I took this quiz, I was excited that the results would say something like Tarja Turunen, Maria Brink, or Jeanne Sagan. Nope. I got Elton John. There’s nothing wrong with Elton John having a crush on me, but it’s not the answer I was hoping for.

Thus ends this dreamy episode of The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. And the best part: no screaming lady after the end credits! Waking up without pissing my bed is a nice way to start the morning. Waking up with more questions than answers is not. I can figure out why The Simpsons would figure into my subconscious: because I enjoy the Halloween episodes.

But why did it take place in a library and why does Elton John find me attractive? I like libraries, but I’ve only heard two Elton John songs in my whole life: “I’m Still Standing” and “Rocket Man”. In the latter of these two songs, Elton says that mars isn’t the kind of place to raise your kids, because it’s cold as hell. You know what else is cold as hell? My subconscious’ sense of humor. Laugh it up, inner brain. I’m glad you think this is hilarious.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’re only going to lock up true sex offenders. We’re not going to bother with consenting adults who like to dress up in leather boy scout uniforms and smash each other in the head with ball peen hammers while they take turns blowing their cat. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that. It’s a victimless hobby. And think of how good the cat must feel. We’re only going to lock up rapists and molesters. Those hopeless romantics who are so full of love they can’t help but get a little bit of it on you. Usually on your leg.”

-George Carlin-

"All Lovers Are Deranged" by David Gilmour

In the late 90’s, there were two things I believed to be true: love wasn’t worth fighting for and Pink Floyd was the greatest band in the world. I needed a theme song that combined these two staunch beliefs and that song was “All Lovers Are Deranged” by David Gilmour, the guitarist and co-vocalist for Pink Floyd.

The Pink Floyd fandom was easy for me, especially after they published a song called “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2” (we don’t need no education). I hated going to middle school in the late 90’s, so Pink Floyd earned a lot of brownie points with me.

The part about resisting romantic love was also easy for me back then because I had a father who owed alimony and child support to multiple ex-wives. Okay, so there aren’t many 11 to 13-year-olds who have to pay alimony, but the idea of it happening one day scared me to death.

This was also during a time when I watched the movie Happy Gilmore (no relation to David) and I learned how the IRS punishes people who don’t pay their taxes: by taking their stuff. I was very protective of my property (especially my Legos and videogames), so sharing them with a girl was out of the question.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by these girls in middle school, though. I took a special liking to women who walked around in shorts and sandals. I didn’t know why at the time, I just liked that about a woman. I would later find out by a special invention called the internet that I had a foot fetish. All questions were answered.

But no matter how many times the girls in my school dressed in shorts and sandals, I turned down every one of them who asked me on a date. Again, I was very protective of my personal things. Add to this the idea of being controlled by someone and the paranoia was even stronger.

I didn’t learn how to fall in love until I turned 15 years old. I went away for a summer retreat in Bellingham and they held dances. I showed up looking for something to drink and from out of nowhere, this pretty girl comes up to me and asks for a dance to a slow song. Also from out of nowhere, I said yes to her. I enjoyed being close with this woman in an intimate way even if it was only for a few minutes. If I can get a little graphic for a moment, there was even a time where…you know…it moved. Ahem!

So now that I know how to fall in love with women, I also know how much it hurts when I know I can’t have the one I fall in love with. I had so many crushes in high school and college that I wanted to duplicate that intimate feeling with. At the time, I thought rejection hurt worse than never trying. I still believe that to this day.

That’s why I consider myself lucky that I was able to have a relationship with a woman named Brianna and feel good about having it. We held hands, hugged, and I even got my first kiss from her. Yes, it took me a long time to get my first kiss, but I got it, by god. That milestone felt good. What didn’t feel good was never seeing her again after an awkward date in which she got in a political argument with my liberal mother. Still, given the awkwardness, I enjoyed every minute I got to be with Brianna even if it was only for a few months.

It’s not the late 90’s anymore and I still have David Gilmour’s music burned to my computer. Are all lovers deranged? It takes a certain craziness to think that love conquers all. Then again, who ever said I was sane? I’m the same guy who believes Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is a cute show and the real world is faker than professional wrestling. Would I do it all again in a heartbeat? Absolutely. Broken hearts can be mended, but lonely ones can’t.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Marriage is a lot like a deck of cards: in the beginning, all you need is two hearts and two diamonds, but in the end, you wish you had a club or a spade.”

-Jerry “The King” Lawler-

"My Heart Beats Pain" by Martin Kesici

I’ve always said that Martin Kesici is one of the most underrated rockers in the music industry today. You can’t find his music on iTunes, his Wikipedia page has next to nothing on it, and whenever you bring his name up in conversation to one of your buddies, they’ll look at you like you have vipers slithering out of your nose.

But never forget that the definition of being underrated is that the person gets less credit than they deserve. When you hear the song “My Heart Beats Pain” by Martin Kesici for the first time, you’ll begin to question why he’s not a worldwide sensation already. It’s a gorgeous ballad about losing the one you love in the form of death.

I’ve only had two girlfriends my whole life and both of them are still living. So why then would I be able to relate to this beautiful piece of rock and roll music? For one, it’s beautiful, so that will get the artist brownie points with me. And two, because for my two ex-girlfriends and millions of crushes, it feels like they are dead.

I could just as easily bring them back to life by talking to them and letting them know how I feel. In order to do that, I have to have two things: a spinal cord and thick skin. I know I have a spinal cord because I can hear it cracking whenever I bend backwards. I know I have thick skin because all of my recent photographs make me look like I’m 400 lbs (I’m much lighter, by the way).

In the figurative sense, I have neither. It takes all the strength I have just to talk to a beautiful woman and I know it will take strength I never knew I possessed to mend my broken heart after they tell me “no”. I have this certainty within me that every girl I attempt to talk to will push me away because of my social awkwardness, my looks, the way I dress, or simply because they don’t feel like it. These are just excuses I use to stay away from lovely women, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be used against me.

My shyness is costing me relationships. My aggression will cost me relationships too. I need people in my life who accept me for who I am regardless of my faults. In the eyes of a stranger, the faults are my most noticeable features.

So whenever I need “My Heart Beats Pain” as creative fuel for my writing, I remember that shy guy romances are one of my favorite genres to work with. Whether or not the protagonists of these stories get what they want varies from story to story. You can’t win them all and when you lose them, you lose them forever. It’d be nice if the shy guys in my stories had a healthy relationship every now and then, but it doesn’t always turn out that way.

Martin Kesici doesn’t have to worry about these things because he’s a rock star. He’s an underrated rock star, but he’s a rock star nonetheless. He still found it within him to communicate the dark side of romance in this gorgeous piece of music known as “My Heart Beats Pain”.

And if you still can’t figure out how to pronounce his last name, it’s “KIZ-ih-chee”. He has a Turkish father and a German mother. Guess where he gets his last name from.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“My heart beats pain ever since that day life’s taken you away. But one day, I will be with you again.”

-Martin Kesici singing “My Heart Beats Pain”-