Showing posts with label Disease. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Disease. Show all posts

Sunday, January 16, 2022

A Brief History of Honey Valley

“Honey Valley isn’t known for its bee population.”


Throughout the history of the former dwarven lands, that joke had been beaten to death almost as badly as the soldiers who fought over control of said lands. The younger inhabitants see the word honey and instantly think of elven sex slavery, which in a perverse way had become Honey Valley’s national product. But the bloody roots of the dwarven island run much deeper than a shallow night of adult fun time. Conquest is the word of the day, and the many days after that if history seemed intent on repeating itself.


In the early days of its inception, five hundred years ago to be exact, Honey Valley didn’t even have a name. If it did, it wasn’t kept in any public records. It was simply referred to as the home island of the dwarven culture. The dwarves were labeled as savages by anybody with no knowledge of tribal culture. The dwarves made ends meet by farming and hunting for food, not generally bothering anybody. One of their favorite crops to farm was coffee beans, which they would combine with caramel to make the perfect caffeinated drink, enjoyed by mostly chiefs and other warriors higher on the pecking order.


During the course of this farming for coffee, a poisonous plant was accidentally mixed in with the ground beans and the drink was subsequently consumed by one tribal chief in particular. Instead of killing him outright, the poisonous plant turned him into a psychotic monster capable of ravaging large numbers of his own population. His skin turned bright red, his muscles bulged to the size of cannonballs, his fangs and fingernails grew into sword-like weapons, but it was his aggression that became synonymous with his genocidal tendencies.


As the poisoned chief slaughtered his own kind, more dwarves became infected with his brain-altering disease. This went on for several years until the entire dwarven population was cannibalizing each other. When they got too feral for each other, they swam across the sea to the mainland looking for victims to dine on. The dwarves were so powerful that they couldn’t be fought off by ordinary soldiers and civilians; they could only be negotiated with once the poison tapered off.


In exchange for the dwarves not invading their lands, several kingdoms offered to donate prisoners to the island whether they were deserving of a death sentence or not. This arrangement continued for several years until the prison population exceeded the rabid dwarves’ appetites. Among those imprisoned on the island was a green-skinned woman named Ryoka, who is believed to be the first “elf” in the history of the world.


The greenish hue, pointy ears, and funky-colored eyes were believed to be part of a rare auto-immune disease Ryoka had. As a result of her strange appearance, she was bullied by her peers to the point where she couldn’t find work and ultimately lived on the streets. Her official imprisonment came when she appeared to conjure magic and set one of her tormentors on fire. Ryoka went on a killing spree against those who wronged her until she was caught and sent to the dwarven island along with several other dangerous prisoners.


In addition to Ryoka, an elite human warrior known as Thomas Xavier joined the roster that would be known for driving the dwarven population underground, never to be seen again. The kingdoms got greedy with their prison exiles and sent too many fighters over to the island. Now that the humans and Ryoka were the supreme masters of what would later be called Honey Valley, they started forging their own alliances and building their own towns and kingdoms. The northern territory belonged to the Atwood lineage, Atwood being a literal name for living near the forest. The central territory was home to the Shadow Asylum mercenary guild, a longstanding organization headed by the ultra-rich Rinehart family.


Ryoka and Thomas Xavier found their own paradise in the southern portion of the island, a forested area with a lovely beach at the tip. Because of the threat of the infection keeping the northern, central, and southern territories isolated from each other, Ryoka and Thomas had enough alone time together to forge a romantic relationship and begin the Xavier bloodline. Several generations of isolation has led to a growth period of the elven race, to the point where their magic usage was becoming too much of a threat to the northern and middle territories.


The official start of human racism towards elves began when an elven boy accidentally set Morgan Town on fire with too little control over his own magical powers. An overabundance of magical energy swirling around wasn’t uncommon in those days and ultimately the Morgan Town government and Atwood monarchy teamed up together to keep the elves under control. Generations of brainwashing, beatings, and enslavement of elves were done to ensure no more accidents would happen and that magic would be completely erased from the elven culture. The xenophobia was bad enough, but when the disenfranchisement of elves became a business, that would be how the new generation of prisoners would negotiate with the mainland.


The newly minted Honey Valley was now in good standing with the mainland kingdoms with elven slave trade becoming lucrative. Slavery was even used to rebuild Morgan Town and refurnish the northern and middle territories with technology unheard of at the time. As traumatizing as the slave trade was for elves, they would get their well-deserved reprieve from their nightmares in the form of a “lion god” they dubbed Mageta.


To this day, the elves don’t know if Mageta was an actual lion who succumbed to the dwarves’ infection or if it was a powerful elf who wore the skin of a lion. Either way, this lion god would prove instrumental in keeping the elves safe for a long enough time that they could get back on their feet again. By the time Mageta was hunted and killed by slave trading warriors, the elves were powerful enough that they could forge their own empire with the recuperation time they were given.


The elves were so grateful for Mageta’s help that they built an entire religion around him, which is still practiced to this day. Because actual history was lost in the elven/human conflict, most of the mythology surrounding this religion was crafted by creative minds. Storytellers, artists, and poets came together to give the elven race their epic Magetan tale, which is why many elves are regarded as being creative types. But with this creative prowess, there was still a need for the elves to defend themselves against the humans that hated them so much. Many Magetan zealots became soldiers hardened by combat and rigorous training. While elves are seen as being overly sensitive, the trauma they hold deep is just waiting to be unleashed on a xenophobic human waiting to strike.


Just as the southern elves began a quest to find their missing brethren who were lost to the slave exchange, another force emerged in the form of a mobile castle run by the Stonewall Kingdom. The knights were sent to investigate the happenings of Honey Valley, but they were short on manpower due to some of their own soldiers and citizens being caught up in the slave trade despite not being elves. Without the support of their superiors, the Stonewall Kingdom had no choice but to throw money at Shadow Asylum since they had no loyalty to any crown.


The current Queen of the Xavier bloodline, Llewellyn, wants to secure a trade deal with the current Stonewall King, Lars, since his mobile castle brought so much technology with it that the elves could use for farming and rebuilding. While Lars and Llewellyn have the same goal in mind of eliminating the slave trade forever, they are two different rulers with a lack of real communication between them.


And now here we are in the year 500 PM (Post-Mageta). The table is set for all out war among the different kingdoms and territories. The Atwood monarchy seems intent on expanding its power and not giving up any sliver of it to the other territories. Shadow Asylum wants to maximize profit and grow fat together off of their earnings. The Xavier and Stonewall monarchies want to put an end to generations of torment and anguish, which all began with the bullying of a green-skinned woman with pointy ears. Who will survive?


Somewhere beneath the surface are the dwarves who have not been heard from since the takeover of the mainland prisoners. Will they rise again? Will they take back their island and erase the Honey Valley name forever? If the threat is not real, then the paranoia is.

Saturday, June 6, 2020

Why I Don't Show Vulnerability

***WHY I DON’T SHOW VULNERABILITY***

Earlier today, I had a brief conversation on Face Book with my long time beta reader and confidant Ashley. It started off with a post about how I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since the year 2007. That sentence alone is disturbing enough, but not nearly as disturbing as me using the word “record” to describe that year. I wasn’t thinking about the braggadocios connotations the word “record” has. There’s even something called the Guinness World Book of Records, where every inductee has something to brag about. I never meant to sound proud of not being able to cry, but that’s how it came out and that’s how the conversation got rolling along.

Ever since that conversation, I’ve had a lot of time to think about why it is that the “record” still stands. I’ve certainly had my fair share of reasons to cry all throughout the 2010’s. I’ve lost pets to old age, I’ve lost an uncle to a car accident, I’ve lost a grandmother to natural causes, I’ve had bad reviews for my books, there were times when I thought my career was over…and yet, my eyes remained dry through it all. You can’t mistake me for a tough guy, though. You could attribute it all to emotional numbness brought on by mental illnesses and the medications used to treat them. But the truth is, nothing about my dry eyes is that simple. I’ve got my own reasons for why I don’t show vulnerability.

When the day finally comes that I unleash the waterworks, I want it to be done in a place where nobody else is around to check on me. I don’t want to be checked on. I don’t want to be overprotected. It has nothing to do with coldness towards those people. It has everything to do with being too vulnerable in front of people who want to know more about my emotional state of mind. So I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more. The more they ask, the more triggered I become. The more triggered I become, the harder it is for me to recover. Talking things out has never worked in my favor. In fact, it only makes the triggers worse. It could be a byproduct of schizophrenia. It could be fear of embarrassment. It could be the fear of never moving on again and being stuck with spinning wheels. Who knows?

Now that I think about it, the concept of asking someone about their triggers and being relentless about it is probably the biggest influence on Tarja Rikkinen’s character work in the very first draft of Beautiful Monster. It was coincidentally what she was criticized for the most. I mistakenly thought that asking about triggers and forcing people to talk was a normal part of the therapeutic process. Nope! Turns out my instincts about making triggers worse was right all along. Then again, first draft Tarja was also the same character who believed that giving Windham the best sex of his life would erase the worst sex of his life at the hands of Shelly and Torger. Nope! That too is just tropey ignorance.

So…if feeling naked in front of people will lead to triggering bad memories and emotions…and talking about it all doesn’t help…what is the solution? You know, aside from taking pills and making life slightly more tolerable. Maybe there’s a magic ritual where a witchdoctor will reach inside my head and pull out all of the malignant parts of my mind. With nothing left to agonize over, happiness would take over and 2020 will be a much easier burden to bear. But of course, these magic rituals don’t exist. Otherwise, nobody would be emotionally damaged and witchdoctors would be richer…than they already are, along with psychics and Goop Lab “scientists”. There is no magic solution to it all. There is no conversation that can convince my mind to ease up on me. Crying privately isn’t a permanent solution either. I can listen to reason, but my mind cannot.

But then again, being an emotional time bomb for thirteen years doesn’t seem like much fun either. Maybe it’s why I get angry at little things. Maybe it’s why I get easily burned out and exhausted. Maybe it’s why I’m bored shitless more often than not. Maybe it’s why I get anxious on the rare occasions that women flirt with me. Who knows? All I know is that all of the pent up emotions have to go somewhere. Why not have them go to a place where it’s easy to control the outcome? I’ve already mentioned crying privately, but is that really the answer to it all? Is it possible to have a deep conversation without triggering every negative feeling within me? What exactly does “confronting my emotions” look like?

Heh…You know what I just realized? The title of this blog entry is called “Why I Don’t Show Vulnerability” and I just spent the last few paragraphs doing just that. By reading this, you know more about me than most people ever will. Do you want to know more? And more? And more? And more? Can it, Tarja Rikkinen. You can ask as many questions as you like, but if a topic gets too uncomfortable, you have to allow me the right to refuse to answer. This isn’t Scientology. This is life. This is living through 2020 and coming out of the other side smelling like roses. Of course, the police brutality and Corona Virus pandemic won’t allow that to happen. But I can at least try, right?

What would perpetual happiness look like for me personally? What happened before 2020 that made me feel like I could conquer the world? Well, let’s start with December 2014, where I took a vacation to San Diego, California so that I could visit Lego Land. That vacation made me so happy that I completely reinvented my mind. From that moment on, I always found the energy to do creative work, I was never bored, I actually paid attention to new music that was blasting in my ears, WWE was actually fun to watch (for me, anyways), my relationships with family and friends were cherished to the fullest extent…am I leaving anything out?

And then…February 2018 rolled along and I suddenly had what I like to call “permission to feel bad again”. I hate to keep beating the dead Millennium horse over and over again, but on the night before my Pop Evil concert, I got curious and looked up “A Room with No View” on Wikipedia. I had seen the episode back in the late 90’s when it aired and I originally thought it was about a yandere who wanted a boyfriend so badly that she used violence to keep him under lock and key. Nope! It’s worse! Turns out that yandere was a seductress who used her sexuality to brainwash high school students into becoming mediocre and ordinary versions of themselves. I originally invalidated my feelings because Millennium is a work of fiction and could never happen in the real world. But when you invalidate your own feelings…you become a thirteen-year time bomb waiting for that one day to let the waterworks flow. But hey, at least I got Beautiful Monster out of that disturbing as shit episode, so that’s a plus.

And then…2018 continued to descend into darkness. I lost three pets that year (Maggie, Sitka, and Smokey), I quit watching WWE because they put on the worst episode of Monday Night Raw in November, Reina moved out of the house to live with Susan on a boat after an intense argument with our family…and…hmm…what else happened? That’s right! The year 2019 rolled along! I adopted Emilio back in December of 2018 and he died on June of 2019, the same month has my birthday. I stopped watching Real Time with Bill Maher after he exploited Stan Lee’s death and mocked fat people. The year 2020 showed its ugly head and before all of the worldwide trauma started, my big fat cat Oswald died in February. And now…here we are. I was given permission to feel bad, I slowed down creatively, and I honestly don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to rebuild my happiness with everything going on with George Floyd’s murder and Corona Virus.

I just now noticed that I’m rambling on in this blog entry. I forgot where my original talking points were going. So I’m just going to end it here. Truth is, I never should have referred to the year 2007 as “the record”. There are other words for it, I’m an English major, and I can make it happen. There will be a day when the floodgates open and I drench my cheeks with salty fluids. When will that day be? I don’t know. But when that day comes, I hope nobody’s around to see me at my worst. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“We used to laugh. We used to cry. We used to bow our heads and wonder why. And now you’re gone. I guess I’ll carry on and make the best of what you’ve left to me. And every day, I’d laugh the hours away just knowing you were thinking of me. And then it came that I was put to blame for every story told about me. I need you like the flower needs the rain. You know I need you. Guess I’ll start it all again. I need you like the winter needs the spring. You know I need you. I need you.”

-America singing “I Need You”-

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Plague Worship


VERSE 1
There’s not much wrong with a needle poke
When contrasted to your anti-science hoax
Treating reason like it’s a big fucking joke
You don’t get to call yourself fucking woke
There’s got to be some kind of law you broke
Watching the masses fall down and croak
Open your eyes and fuck all your lies
How many more of us should have to die?

CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow

VERSE 2
Where did you get your shit of a bull?
A Russian troll who wants world control?
A leader whose brain is turning into pudding?
A CEO who profits from your home cooking?
Get that garbage out of your tiny brain
A needle is two seconds of minor pain
It’s nothing more and it’s nothing less
It’s better than cleaning up a gory mess

CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow

VERSE 3
You can drag your kid to the doctor’s office
Or spread your bullshit like a false prophet
No proof for the crap that you believe in
Armageddon is yours if you can achieve it

EXTENDED CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
Measles, mumps, chickenpox
More reasons for a burial box
Making a comeback one last time
It’s plague worship, the ultimate crime

Friday, September 21, 2018

Incelbordination, Chapter 14


Falling asleep in the middle of danger seemed to be a common occurrence for Oswald Crow. He wondered how many blows to the head he’d taken since fighting against Incelbordination. Apparently, not enough to forget the pain of loneliness. Or the pain of being labeled a terrorist. Or the pain of possibly being thrown in jail for a roll of weed. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit if he woke up a jail cell right then and there. But low and behold, he woke up (if one could call it that) back at the warehouse, a dark and empty warehouse at that. No bloodstains. No dead bodies. No crying. No pleas for help. Absolutely nothing at all.

And then what few lights there were began to flicker brightly at a rapid pace. Oswald held his aching head as he stood up and allowed his swollen eyeballs to adjust to the light. Needle pains pierced through his system and caused him to whine gently to himself. Not knowing where he was going, he bumped into a wooden crate that seemed to be filled to the top with bullets. Entranced, he sifted his fingers through the metal like beach sand. Somehow this was relaxing to his anxiety. A phantom woman appearing out of nowhere, however, was far from it.

An attractive black woman with long hair and a longer gray dress hovered over Oswald with a smile on her face. “Hello, Mr. Crow. Remember me?”

If the dwarf’s eyes weren’t wide before, they were now that this ghost appeared before him. “Mrs. Mills?”

“That’s right, Oswald. It’s me: Mrs. Mills. It’s been a while since the two of us talked. It’s almost like you’re avoiding me or something. Why would that be?” She leaned her face closer to Oswald and said, “That’s right, I remember. You never wanted to show your face again after you wrote me that love letter. I can’t say I blame you, teenage hormones aside.”

The dwarf’s face glowed nuclear red as he tried to come up with some dialogue. “Mrs. Mills…I’m …I’m sorry…I really am…”

Waving it off, Mrs. Mills said, “Don’t worry, Oswald, it’s not a problem at all. It’s not like I went through my own version of humiliation, being divorced and fired and whatnot. I must admit, you know how to tell a good love story…for high school standards, at least.”

“Please…Mrs. Mills, just go away.” Oswald sifted his fingers through the bullets yet again, but the anxiety relief wouldn’t come for him this time.

“Why should I, little buddy? Am I saying things you don’t like to hear?” said Mrs. Mills in an increasingly erratic tone. “You think you’re starving for love? What about me? Where was I supposed to get mine? From you? Don’t make me laugh, I’m in enough trouble as it is. Oh wait…I can’t be in trouble….because I’m dead! My bad!”

Oswald made a fist with the bullets he grabbed, as though he was ready to go to war right there. “You know how you could have saved your job and your life? By telling the other kids our phony relationship wasn’t true. You could have sent them to the principal’s office. You could have whacked their hands with pencils for all I cared. Do something to set things right, that’s all anybody could ask for. But no…you did absolutely nothing to stop those rumors from spreading to the kids. I’ve never heard so many kids laughing at me in my life. You? You might as well have laughed with them. You were complicit by your silence.”

Caught in her own debunked logic, Mrs. Mills shook her head and confessed, “Oswald, there was nothing I could do. I was just as unbelievable as you were. If they didn’t listen to you, what makes you think they could have listened to me?”

“Because you’re a fucking teacher and you know better than to let shit happen!” bellowed Oswald before throwing bullets at the phantom. “Get out! Get the hell out of here and stop haunting my dreams!” The dwarf threw even more bullets until the ghost fizzled out of sight.

And then by some strange magic, the crate refilled with more bullets, just in time for yet another ghost to appear: a baldheaded teenaged cancer patient trapped in a wheelchair with a psychotic frown on her face. “What about me, Oswald? You’re always talking with Antero about how you want cards and flowers on your grave, right? Where were my flowers when I needed them? Where was my love? Were you too embarrassed to admit that I was your girlfriend or were you too cowardly to take care of me when I needed someone the most?”

Breathing heavily through gritted teeth, Oswald scooped up more bullets in his hand and shouted, “Man, fuck you, Trish! You were just as complicit as my deadbeat English teacher! You didn’t stop the laughs! You didn’t stop the rumors! Even a sick chick like you could use a smart phone and make things right! You did nothing about it! Fuck you, Trish! Fuck off!” The dwarf threw even more bullets than before and caused Trish’s ghost to fade away in the darkness. And once again, the crate magically refilled with tossing props.

Yet another ghost haunted Oswald’s tortured soul: a blond haired teenage boy with a rainbow-colored shirt and his chin tucked in shame. “Are you going to throw bullets at me, you little shit?” The dwarf’s expression softened as he dropped the bullets back in the box. “All I did was place my hand on your shoulder and help you carry your books. I admit, I started to like you for a while. I told you how cute you were. And you just…you just snapped like a madman.” The boy tried in vain to wipe tears from his eyes, but they just kept flowing.

“You got me all wrong, Hunter,” said Oswald, his voice muffled in defeat. “I’m not one of those homophobic assholes. You just caught me on a bad day, that’s all. All the laughing, the name calling, the beatings I took…it just wasn’t my day. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Hunter’s ghost dissolved in the darkness and gave way to an army of angry young men with red hot neon in their eyes. Oswald dropped to his ass and breathed heavily in fear as these ghosts called him every name in the book while pointing accusatory fingers at him. The dwarf clutched his chest in an attempt to prevent a possible heart attack when Antero Magnus’ ghost appeared in front of those kids. Antero’s eyes had glowed a little brighter that night, giving off that same creepy shiver down Oswald’s spine.

“What do you people want from me?! Leave me alone!” the dwarf shouted in between winded breaths.

“You see all these kids, Oswald?” asked Antero as he waved his hands in both directions to show them off. “You let them all down, my former friend. You let me down too. You could have been one of the greatest revolutionaries of all time. You could have put Che Guevara to shame. You could have changed the world. Instead you turned your back on us .Of all the people you’ve seen tonight, we were the only ones who gave a damn about you. You threw it all away, Oswald. You’re not a supreme gentleman. You’re not even a manlet. You’re a fucking loser!”

Oswald kept screaming, “Shut up!” as he desperately reached into the bullet box and threw in every direction he could. Bullets to the left, bullets to the right, bullets to the center, bullets in a three hundred sixty degree angle. No matter how many he threw, the ghosts kept growing in numbers. Sure, the box refilled as it always did, but what good were those weapons if they only counted for a few victims?

The one victim Oswald wanted to hit the most, Antero, had put a stop to his rebellion with a one-handed chokehold to the little guy. Between the throat squeezing and his own heart-exploding anxiety, Oswald struggled to stay alive as he flopped on the ground like a fish, the ghosts of Incelbordination creeping over him and laughing like high school children. Mrs. Mills was among that crowd as well. As was Trish. As was Hunter. As was an entire underworld of tormentors waiting to gobble up Oswald for a late night snack. Just because he was paranoid, didn’t mean the world wasn’t out to get him.

When it looked like he would be permanently dragged to hell for his romantic sins, Oswald awakened in a dark cell by sitting upright and gasping in a raspy voice. He could finally breathe again even though he was drowning in sweat. Hopefully the stain on his pants was sweat too. The little guy plopped backwards and continued to catch his lost breath whilst clutching his chest.

“What the fuck was all that? Where am I? Hello?!” No answers, only darkness. Imprisoned, blighted, depressive darkness. But even the black nothing was better than being anywhere near Antero’s warehouse. “Wait a minute…if I’m in this cell…where’s Antero?! Where is everybody else?! Where the fuck am I?! Somebody help me!”

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Isle of Dogs


MOVIE TITLE: Isle of Dogs
DIRECTOR: Wes Anderson
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Animated Comedy
RATING: PG-13 for violence and politics
GRADE: Extra Credit

In dystopian Japan, corrupt politician Kobayashi orders a mass exodus of the dog population to Trash Island due to an outbreak of canine diseases. A small minority of Japanese citizens believe that this quarantine is nothing more than xenophobia in a disguise. One of those rebels is Kobayashi’s nephew Atari, who hijacks a plane and flies to Trash Island to rescue his bodyguard dog Spots. What starts off as a small act of defiance becomes a full-blown revolution against a five hundred year dynasty hell-bent on spreading messages of fear and hatred against dogs. No one person can do everything, but everybody can do something.

With the current political climate here in America, it’s no wonder that this synopsis sounds familiar to us. Kobayashi is little more than a Japanese Donald Trump with the way he dodges criticism and spouts bigoted rhetoric. In the case of Isle of Dogs, we know the disenfranchised dogs are easy to root for because they’re so darn cute. But being empathetic is more than about rooting for the favorable ones. It’s about rooting for complete strangers who are being crushed by oppression. True empathy doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, white or otherwise, gay or straight. If you see injustice in the world, say something. If you’re feeling brave, do something. That’s what this movie means to me and that’s the reason why it deserves an Extra Credit grade.

As long as you’re cheering for the dogs to have a better day, why not rub their bellies, scratch their ears, and give them hot baths? Yes, they’re covered in dirt from living on a garbage-infested island for so long. Yes, they eat things normal people wouldn’t touch. Yes, they have infectious diseases. But they deserve your love anyways. Cook them a nice steak dinner. Throw a tennis ball for them and have them bring it back to you. Let them take long naps on your furniture during gray and rainy days. You can’t resist these fluffy creatures no matter how hard you try. Couple that with a powerful anti-xenophobia message and Isle of Dogs will easily become your new favorite movie.

Of course, with any piece of art, there will always be critics. It’s as certain as death and taxes no matter how good the movie appears to be. In the case of Isle of Dogs, the biggest piece of criticism it received from the public was the possible appropriation of Japanese culture. The movie has Taiko drummers, sumo wrestlers, sushi meals, school uniforms, anime references, and plenty of other tropes that might be deemed racist. Well, I’m here to tell those critics to relax. You’re looking for a controversy that’s not even there. I’m not worried about a white American like Wes Anderson using these tropes. I would be more worried if a director used them badly. Watch the old Dick Tracy cartoons from the 1960’s and contrast them to Isle of Dogs. Not even a close call when it comes to offensiveness. As my mother always says to people who are uppity, “Calm down, relax, take a deep breath.”

With a powerful political message, cute animal babies, deadpan comedy, and an all-around good story, it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a semi-truck full of Oscars waiting for Wes Anderson and his beautifully-done masterpiece. Everybody who participated in this movie deserves high accolades, from the voice actors to the animators to the translators to…everybody! It took a whole village to put together an awesome movie that all ages can enjoy. Five out of five stars, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Little Bastards

VERSE 1
Little feet tapping across the floor
Anxiety builds up more and more
Is the little bastard going to bite?
Or haunt my dreams in the night?
He carries more poison that a cobra
Shrieks of pain, my magnum opus
Splatters of sickness, hospital visits
Face greener than leaves of spinach

CHORUS
Little bastards!
Little fuckers!
Flesh eaters!
Blood suckers!

VERSE 2
One of them dead, a million left to go
Turning my home into a horror show
Hiding in holes, hiding in the walls
Fighting them off takes more than balls
Lay every trap like a desert minefield
Agony and death is what they’ll feel
Until the last one takes its final breath
This is our house, we fight to the death

CHORUS
Little bastards!
Little fuckers!
Flesh eaters!
Blood suckers!

BRIDGE
Dead rats underneath the stove
Dead rats in the kitchen cupboards
Rat shit stinking up the whole house
Rat shit, the floor is fucking covered

VERSE 3
The war is over, but the trauma remains
Everyone I love went nearly insane
Almost shit ourselves, made permanent stains
Visions of little fuckers danced in our brains
A house is a home, no more, no less
Not a dungeon for furry little pests
Not a spawning pit for the little shits
Not an orgy of disease as they eat toxic cheese

EXTENDED CHORUS
Little bastards!
Little fuckers!
Flesh eaters!
Blood suckers!
Little nightmares!
Little shit stains!
Bringers of terror!

Authors of pain!

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Theocracy

VERSE 1
Welcome to the theocracy
Forget your sexual fantasies
It’s all about diseases and pregnancy
Cross the line, you’re the public enemy
Abstinence doesn’t do a damn thing
It’s somehow better with a wedding ring
Don’t try to analyze, just conform
Theocracy is the brand new norm

CHORUS
Sex ed will fuck with your head
STD’s will leave you for dead
We know what goes on in your bed
Theocracy is what you need instead

VERSE 2
Never mind that we’re telling lies
Why should this come as a surprise?
We’re the same guys who grade opinions
Turn you all into mindless minions
It could be another brick in the wall
Or lesions all over your dick and balls
Or green pus oozing out of your holes
Or HIV racking up a bloody death toll

CHORUS
Sex ed will fuck with your head
STD’s will leave you for dead
We know what goes on in your bed
Theocracy is what you need instead

VERSE 3
Masturbation can relieve your tension
But we don’t give it the slightest mention
Wait until you’re married, it all makes sense
Don’t try to debate us or put up a defense
We’re the ones who give A’s and B’s
To students who always aim to please
We’re also the ones who give F’s and D’s
Who question the curriculum about disease

BRIDGE
Sores on your cock until forever o’clock
Sores on your ass, wait for eternity to pass
Kick you when you’re down in this rightwing town
No apologies for theocracy

EXTENDED CHORUS
Sex ed will fuck with your head
STD’s will leave you for dead
We know what goes on in your bed
Theocracy is what you need instead
Bible verses aren’t something to dread
Your holy spirit is what needs to be fed
A sip of Kool-Aid and a chunk of bread

Poison for your mind like water with lead

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Dale's Heart

***DALE’S HEART***

Over the past few days, my step-dad Dale has been having minor chest pains that were treated with aspirin up until now. Today my mom took him to the emergency room to see what the hell’s going on with his heart. Dale is still at the hospital, but Mom came home hours ago. She told me that the doctors and nurses ran several tests on him and they’re going to run a stress test tomorrow morning. All of the preliminary results are leaning towards angina, which means the blood vessels in Dale’s heart are too small to allow proper blood flow. If he passes his stress test, he could be home as early as tomorrow afternoon. If he doesn’t, then there’s a good chance he’ll need to have a stint put in his blood vessels.

Dale has a lot of factors working against his body whether it’s his 69-year-old age, his overweight body, his past with cigarette-smoking, or the fact that heart disease runs in his family. Despite all of this, I have a positive feeling he’s going to make it out of the hospital as good as new. His father had heart disease and he lived well into his 90’s. Dale’s fought through worse health problems in his life and he’s going to fight through this too. Ever since he married my mom in 2005, he’s been a huge reason why our family is living a peaceful life today. If there’s anything our family can do to help him through this tough obstacle, we’re going to do it.

That last part includes canceling a few trips he and my mom were going to take in June. A few days after my 32nd birthday, the two of them were going to fly to Pennsylvania to visit with family. That’s not going to be possible if Dale’s heart problems are more serious than we imagined. They also have a concert they’re going to in Denver with their childhood friend Sandy. It’s Paul Simon’s final concert before he retires and I’d really hate for them to miss that. Poor Dale-Pie. Poor, poor Dale-Pie.


If you want to leave well-wishes for Dale, you can do it on Good Reads, Deviant Art, Blogger.com, and Face Book since that’s where I plan on leaving this blog. He needs all the love he can get right now. But like I said earlier, I have faith that he’ll pull through like he has against every other obstacle in his life. I know I use the word “warrior” a lot in my writing, but I believe it applies to Dale as well as the magicians and barbarians in Poison Tongue Tales and Occupy Wrestling. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Moana

MOVIE TITLE: Moana
DIRECTORS: Ron Clements and John Musker
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Children’s Animation
RATING: G
GRADE: Pass

In ancient Polynesia, the demigod Maui steals a gem from the island goddess, unwittingly causing a lava demon to rise from the sea and spread a disease across the islands. Motunui is the latest target of this blight when its crops and fishes are dying rapidly. A future chieftain girl named Moana must now sail across the ocean and convince Maui to return the stolen gem to the island goddess. When Maui’s arrogance and Moana’s stubbornness clash, the quest to save the world becomes jeopardized. But the more time this unlikely team spends together, the more they get used to each other’s company, giving them a better chance of righting Maui’s wrongs.

Seeing as how Maui is a muscular human with a barbed wit and heroic athleticism, it only makes sense that Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson provides his voice. Fans of WWE know how good of a trash talker he was and fans of his Hollywood resume know how much of a warrior he can be. Whether he’s a WWE champion, a GI Joe soldier with a chain gun, an FBI agent with an insanely fast car, or a self-centered demigod with a magical fish hook that’s bigger than he is, The Rock is a certified stud no matter what role he takes. He’s energetic, he’s hilarious, and he never misses a beat. I wouldn’t want anybody else taking the role of Maui. It just wouldn’t be right. The Rock’s performance is dead-on and justifiable of his million dollar salary.

Another thing I enjoyed about this movie was the environmental overtones. Yes, the fantasy elements such as the mystical gem and the lava monster don’t fit in with modern day politics, but the message is still the same: treat mother earth with respect and she’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. If you take too much from her or abuse her in any way, you’re going to feel her wrath. Only take as many fish as you need, plant crops with abundance, and keep the animals and plant-life safe. It’s a simple message that doesn’t get heard enough. Think of Moana as a Disney-animated fantasy version of a Carl Hiaasen novel. Sure, Mr. Hiaasen’s novels don’t have lava monsters, but sometimes the worst monsters are the more realistic ones, like humans.

The final thing I want to touch on is the beauty of the Polynesian world in which Disney created. The clear blue water of the ocean looks like a lot of fun to drink and swim in. The palm tree forests and sandy beaches are vacation-worthy, which is funny considering I watched this movie on a Mexican cruise ship. The character designs are also lovable whether it’s the overly stupid chicken Heihei, the cuddly piggy baby that lives on Moana’s island, or even the gigantic gold and jewel-encrusted crab who’s holding Maui’s magical fishhook hostage. This is a world I wouldn’t mind living in despite the blight spreading across the islands. I would go swimming every day and eat fish until the end of time. Maybe I would even cuddle with Heihei and the piggy. Aww!


Moana is a beautifully executed movie with more high points than I’m capable of listing in this short review. If you like strong female characters, you’ll love the title protagonist. If you like beautiful scenery, you’ll love this movie as a whole. If you love comedic conversations, look no further than Dwayne Johnson and his portrayal of Maui. I would be hard pressed to find a single flaw within this movie. Yes, I know this movie has received a lot of criticism from the Polynesian community, but I prefer to enjoy a good movie instead of dwell in negativity. A passing grade goes to this lovely piece of children’s cinema!