Vanilla ICE-Holes

Is that “ICE” on your vest? It should say “snowflake”

Surrender and comply? No way, Jose

Don’t worry about us pulling your mask off

Instead we’ll pull your pants off, force you to jack off

To Orange Hitler, on your knees, bootlicker

My trigger finger’s quick, so you better be quicker

Don’t half-ass the fash, go the whole nine yards

You do it long enough, you can play your race card

Forget the mask, we know you’re Vanilla ICE-Holes

You’re doing Pulp Fiction and the gimp is your role

Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp!

Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!

Slap you like a pimp for being a right-wing simp

Kick you in the dick ‘til it’s permanently limp

The age of drum circles is a thing of the past

Unless we play the drums on your stupid ball caps

With your head inside, now you can go and hide

Behind your daddy’s legs like a doggy who begs

Schoolyard bullies have more balls than you

Look in the mirror, it’s no one’s fault but you

You couldn’t cut it as the next John Rambo

Gassed out in five seconds while learning Sambo

If Sambo was easy, it’d be called White America

Chilling on your porch calling everybody terrorists

Shotgun in your hand, but you sawed it in half

You shoot prematurely, make your girlfriend laugh

Just kidding! You couldn’t be a Prom King either

You got no personality, you’re the new rag and ether

Putting us to sleep with your nothingburger status

So you pretend to be a badass ‘cause no girl would make passes

Without a few shots of whiskey in little glasses

Drop the Xanax in the drink, make her slip off to a dream

That’s your whole life in an itty-bitty nutshell

Your whole villain arc for why you pump the gun shells

Into innocent civilians, you do it by the millions

Call it “welfare cuts”, give your masters more trillions

You live by the sword, you die by the sword

‘Cause you got nowhere else to go except the psych ward

Fitness Guru

INTRO DIALOGUE

You’re not a fitness guru; you’re a eugenicist!

 

SATIRE POEM

I make my salary by burning all my calories

Showing off my ribs, telling fatphobic fibs

Juicing up my biceps, overworking triceps

Got some ten-pack abs, not pinch of flab

 

Why stop there? Let’s erase your autism

And your personality that you got with it

Sell stories about your expendability

Based on corporate greed and your disability

 

“Don’t even bother with the COVID vaccine”

Said the pin cushion who was a heroin fiend

You believe every word, just look at my face

Innocent like an angel from the “Master Race”

 

Take my advice, pay no mind to my voice

What disease do I have? It’s Dealer’s Choice

I never smoked a cigarette a day in my life

Still sounds like I wear a Columbian Necktie

 

I got more wrinkles than crumpled up paper

It started as a baby and I hoped it would taper

Started in the womb, wait, now I remember

I was totally alive then, like Jesus in December

 

Now I got a job fucking up my last name

Drag it through the mud, make it take a walk of shame

Black sheep doesn’t describe me at all

‘Cause if I lived on a farm, my voters would suck my balls

 

So next time you see me on the television

Listen loud and clear, ‘cause there is no intermission

No bathroom breaks even though I’m full of shit

Here’s my healthcare plan, it’s a total money pit

Government efficiency is kind of my jam

Effective at what? Making suckers fall for scams?

Fork over your dough as you die really slow

Make the oligarchy richer, fuck the Average Joe!

George Floyd the Wall

VERSE 1
Son-shine’s gone up to heaven
Abuse of power was the weapon
A wide shot for the viral streaming
And now a nation is left screaming
And now a nation is left screaming!
All in all, it was just a 9-1-1 call
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls

VERSE 2
We don’t need no execution
We just want a revolution
No guns or tear gas in the streets
We will not cower in defeat
No! We won’t cower in defeat!
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call

VERSE 3
I don’t need your lame excuses
I don’t need human rights abuses
Now that our backs are against the wall
Your racist empire will be the next to fall
Yeah! Your racist empire is the next to fall!
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls

FINAL VERSE
Goodbye, George Floyd
I say in a trembling voice
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye, Mr. President
There’s no real reason to keep you elected
Goodbye…

"MAD About Trump" from MAD Magazine

BOOK TITLE: MAD About Trump: A Brilliant Look at Our Brainless President

AUTHOR: MAD Magazine Staff

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Magazine Compilation

SUBGENRE: Political Comedy

GRADE: Pass

If you thought Donald Trump’s thin-skinned responses towards SNL skits were childish, I’d love to see how he’d respond to MAD Magazine roasting him like a turkey in this book. I for one got a good laugh out of most of these jokes. Comparing and contrasting him to Burger King’s Cheetoh Fries seemed like the most obvious joke to make, but technically they’re not wrong, especially when they say both Trump and the cheese fries are disgusting dinner conversation topics. There’s a parody of John Lennon’s “Imagine”, a parody of The Apprentice with dead celebrities, a parody of Undercover Boss with Trump as the CEO, basically, there’s no shortage of ways to make Donald Trump look like a complete fool, though he does most of that to himself. If I had one critique from a writing standpoint, it’s that some of the jokes are repetitive and can get stale after a while. Plus, name-calling by itself isn’t necessarily a recipe for comedy. But it doesn’t matter, because whether you’re looking for laughs or you want validation for your hatred of Trump, you’ll get it in this book. Conservatives, on the other hand, would have a raging fit if they saw this, but that’s not always a lethal thing. Don’t feel ashamed for buying this book and enjoying it from cover to cover. If laughing is all you can do to keep from smashing your hotel room Pink Floyd the Wall-style, then I’m all for it. And speaking of which, Roger Waters from Pink Floyd is the only one who’s allowed to build a wall around here. A passing grade goes to this publication!

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.

#MeToo

***ME TOO***

In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein sexual assault scandals, there’s a hashtag going around called #MeToo, where women share their stories of sexual harassment/assault whether it’s in the workplace, public life, school, the streets, or home. As I’ve stated many times before, I don’t often give people a glimpse into my past because of my schizophrenia and how talking about it actually makes the numb feeling worse. But after seeing so many of my friends come out with stories like this, I feel empowered to talk about it as well. Granted, I’m not a woman, but this isn’t an issue exclusive to one gender. So now, I will recall for you, my lovely audience, the first time I’ve experienced sexual harassment.

I was fourteen years old and going to high school in Chehalis, Washington (where the big boys play, apparently). Every once and a while, the school would have Spirit Day, where students dress up in a certain couture to show their school spirit (which I had none of, because I fucking hated school). That day’s apparel was pajamas, which I didn’t wear. And because of this, a girl snuck up behind me and said, “Hey, where’re your pajamas today?” before grabbing my ass and laughing with her friend. I never turned around to see who did it and therefore couldn’t report anybody. Instead, all I had was a heedful of trauma and no way to get rid of the stress. I couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork or creative activities. Whenever I’d watch my favorite TV shows, I’d just blank out and forget what happened. I began to think that I was becoming gradually stupid because of this mind fuckery. As someone who prided myself on A’s and B’s, taking away my intelligence was personal to me. I wanted revenge, but with no face to direct my fists to, it never was.

It was the first time I’d been harassed, but not the last. My freshman year was based on beating the shit out of students who spread lies about me dating an ugly woman (not that there’s anything wrong with that, but a lie is a lie and sexual harassment is sexual harassment). Since then, I’ve been mooned by marines, hit on by fat gay guys, and stalked by ex-girlfriends. I won’t go into the intense details of those encounters, but they sucked just as badly as my first time. Even now as I type this, my prophecy about bad memories coming back is coming true. Hopefully, my audience will learn something from this and my self-triggering won’t be in vain.

But then there’s another reason why I was hesitant to write this: because I’d feel like a hypocrite if I did. In addition to being the victim of sexual harassment, I’ve also been an unintentional perpetrator. I never wanted to be that guy, but sometimes I’d crack an obscene joke that would make the people around me uncomfortable. I used to have a Deviant Art friend who photographed fetish models. Some of those accidentally stinging comments were directed at her and her models. We haven’t spoken since then. It’s the reason why I’m shy around women in the first place: I don’t want to offend them and become that monster again. Even something as simple as saying, “You’re beautiful” can be hurtful. I don’t like hurting people. I like being good to them and making them feel respected. For all the people I’ve offended with my comments, I’m sorry. I could say I’m sorry a thousand times, but it wouldn’t be enough for me. I’ve been in those shoes before and I don’t want to put anybody else in them.

Let these stories be a lesson to everybody out there. If someone tells you to stop, you’d better stop. If they’re not capable of telling you to stop, don’t cross that Moral Event Horizon and become the next Brock Turner. I’ve never crossed the Moral Event Horizon, but I still feel terrible every time I think about the women I’ve hurt with my crass jokes. Be careful about what you say and do to the people around you. Don’t become the next Harvey Weinstein or Donald Trump, two men who can never be forgiven for their sins. It’s not worth the heartache. It’s not worth the lack of concentration. It’s not worth feeling stupid over. Think before you speak, think before you act.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“From morning to night, I stayed out of sight. Didn’t recognize I’d become no more than alive. I’d barely survive. In a word, overrun. Won’t hear a sound from my mouth. I’ve spent too long on the inside-out. My skin is cold to the human touch. This bleeding heart’s not beating much. I’ve murmured a vow of silence and now I don’t even hear when I think aloud. Extinguished by light, I turn on the night when it’s darkness with an empty smile.

-Pink Floyd singing “Wearing the Inside Out”-

Conspiracy Theory

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 1

Bill Maher wants to commit fat guy genocide

Put millennials in ovens until they are fried

Beat Muslims with a bat, it’s what he wants

Since their symbol is a crescent, he eats croissants

Listen, ‘cause the story that I’m telling is true

If he tried to sue, he would badly lose

Maybe I embellished just a little tiny bit

But as long as you’re willing to eat bullshit…

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 2

Donald Trump was born on the planet of Mars

Sitting on his pudgy ass eating chocolate bars

The orange on his skin is moldy Wheat Thins

Doritos, Cheetohs, and rotten Papas Fritos

Listen, ‘cause the story that I’m telling is real

It’ll make him squeal, the stuff I reveal

Maybe it’s built on a little white lie

But as long as you’re willing to pray to the sky…

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 3

James Woods once sued a starving African teen

For twenty million dollars and his ruptured spleen

The charges stemmed from a 1912 Twitter post

About the so-called actor having brains of buttered toast

Listen, ‘cause the story will involve Dr. Luke

And how they drowned each other in Roman shower puke

If they win their lawsuits, it’ll only be a fluke

Conspiracy theories don’t have to be rebuked

FINAL LINE

I have a conspiracy theory X4

Debating

***DEBATING***

Even though I post a lot of short stories with controversial topics and post John Oliver videos on my Face Book page, I actually don’t like debating that much. I agree with the idea of being open to new ideas and not being completely coddled from the opposing side. However, if someone tries to engage me in a debate, the most talking points I’ll ever have in that conversation is…maybe two. After those talking points are on the table, I have nothing left and I’m completely vulnerable to the limitless number of talking points the other guy has. Being on this jobber losing streak in a debate has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right or wrong. It just means that I don’t have an unlimited number of talking points. I suppose I could cure that with extensive research, but that only adds maybe two or three more talking points to the already short list.

It didn’t dawn on me just how bad my debating skills were until I moved into my dorm room at Western Washington University in 2007. I had a roommate named Carl who was always helpful to me and an all around nice guy. However, when he tried to engage me in a debate, I would sit there in silence not knowing how to answer his talking points. Carl described himself as a “conservative with a strong liberal twist”, but most of his talking points were right-leaning in nature. He’d present all of these carefully-worded arguments that went on for about a minute or a minute and a half and it always drove me nuts that I couldn’t debunk all of them.

So whenever I hear somebody talk about open-mindedness, I always tell them it’s a two way street. In other words, if you want me to be open to your viewpoints, you have to be open to mine. But that’s the problem: my viewpoints only have a lifespan of one burst of alphabet soup. After that, it’s over. I’m like a bottle rocket when it comes to debating, which is why I avoid it most of the time.

Of course, there’s another reason why I avoid debates and it’s because I have this fear of offending my best friends by justifying the things they hate. It’s the reason why I don’t wave a Richard Dawkins book in the face of one of my Christian friends. Not only is it offensive to do, but it could kill the friendship. I put love and friendship before politics and religion every single time. If somebody gives me a ride when I need one or cooks me a nice meal or gives me twenty bucks to buy my favorite book, why should it matter what side of the political spectrum they’re on? Of course, I wouldn’t accept a million dollars from Donald Trump, but that’s because…well…he’s Donald Trump. But you get what I’m saying, right?

So if you see me back out of an argument, it’s not because I’m closing myself off to that person. It’s because unlike that person, I can’t keep talking forever and ever and ever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch some more John Oliver videos and chase them down with a rant by Immortal Technique about vegetarianism. Peace! I’m out!

***SWAMPLANDIA***

As many of you have noticed either from my Deviant Art journals or my Good Reads account, I’ve been chipping away at “Swamplandia” by Karen Russell for a little under two months now. According to my Good Reads account, I’m 83% done with it, which means I’m going to spend one day blowing through the rest of it. Even though I’m not finished with it yet, I’ve already decided that it’s going to receive a mixed grade (three stars) when I review it. The concept is great, the depressing themes are great, and even the idea of a World of Darkness theme part ignites the dark fantasy passion within me. But what gives it a three star rating is the pacing. It’s slow enough to tire my eyes out after five or six pages of reading. I don’t know what exactly to owe the pacing to, but it’s definitely a slow one and that would explain why I’ve spent so much time with this book. That and it’s 400 pages long.

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

JERRY LAWLER: If Emma was a vegetable, she’d be a cute-cumber.

MAURO RANALLO: The world is pun-derful and I’m glad you agree, King.

Hulk Hogan Dream

***HULK HOGAN DREAM***

I’ve always known that dreams could be an awesome source of creative fuel. I never expected one of them to be a short story idea for the WSS. Now that I’m wide awake and I’ve processed everything that happened in the dream, I’m not sure if it’ll even become a future story. Maybe I could be convinced into writing it by whoever’s reading this blog entry. Ready or not, here it comes!

The main character in the story was played by me, though I don’t remember the person’s name. All I know is that I was captured by an alien race with squid-like faces and taken to their flying saucer’s prison cells. They should have patted me down for weaponry before locking me up, because I had the one weapon that would put me in beast mode forever: Hulk Hogan’s Hall of Fame ring. I slipped it on my finger and transformed into the former WWE wrestler, the healthy 1980’s version. I ripped the bars off the cell and started beating the crap out of squid-faced aliens with big boots, clotheslines, suplexes, body slams, and leg drops (did I get all of his five moves of doom?). And then I got to the helm of the ship where the master alien was waiting for me. Soon I was joined by The Ultimate Warrior and the two of us beat the crap out of the alien leader together. I woke up thinking this would make a good short story idea, but now I’m not sure.

And now that I think about it, if I did write this story, it would be considered fan fiction since WWE owns the name Hulk Hogan. Although, with the racism scandal in 2015, they don’t want anything to do with him anymore and pretty much scrubbed him from their history. So the question now becomes, if I write this story and it’s considered fan fiction, can I be sued for publishing it and if so, by who: Hulk Hogan himself or the WWE? At this point, I’m better off using an entirely different character instead of Hogan, but it wouldn’t have the same effect or meaning. Copyright laws are fickle bitches.

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Team PCB calling themselves the most dominant divas in WWE is like Donald Trump saying his favorite holiday is Cinqo De Mayo.”

-Nikki Bella-

Chris Hammer

NAME: Chris Hammer
AGE: 43
OCCUPATION: Fitness Guru
CANON: Jumping Jackholes


If you’re ever feeling bad about how much you weigh or what your body looks like, the world’s biggest jerk-ass known as Chris Hammer will make you feel even worse as part of his motivational gimmick. He’s got muscles the size of pumpkins, veins the size of pipelines, blood flowing through his steroid stream, and more anger in his heart than the entire Westboro Baptist Church. Speaking of the latter, Chris Hammer hates fat people so much that he has become a venomous bigot. He might as well hold up a rainbow colored sign that says “God Hates Fats”.

The worst part about this nimrod? He has his own TV show. That’s right, folks. People desperate to lose weight actually turn on their tubes and listen to a full hour of Chris Hammer screaming anti-fat slurs at them while doing exercises that are ridiculously hard even for the physically fit. Because he’s so disgustingly strong, he can do things like move boulders, do jumping jacks while carrying cannonballs, do pushups with fat customers on his back, and run a mile in less than ten seconds. His only response: “What’s your excuse?” And if you don’t have an excuse, relax, because he’ll put it all into perspective for you. In a thunderous voice, he’ll threaten to give your food away to hungry children in Africa because you’re fat enough to have a heart attack any minute now.

The best way to deal with this prick would be to punch him in the mouth, right? Well, part of being muscular is having a high tolerance for pain. Plus, Chris Hammer just happens to have a chiseled jaw, so you would probably break your fist before you broke his face. What about firepower? Are you so desperate to see this guy killed that you need to arm yourself with pistols and shotguns? Maybe even rocket launchers? Once again, the rocket shell would turn to shrapnel before Chris Hammer turned to fire and ashes. Due to this guy’s indestructibility, he has a complex that makes him feel entitled to belittle others because he has everything going for him.

Know any celebrities like that? I can name a few off the top of my head right now. Donald Trump comes to mind. He has so much money that he can manipulate the odds when he’s suing other people for even more money. Mel Gibson is next on deck. He has so much celebrity status that he believes he’s entitled to scream at his wife or girlfriend, maybe even beat her. Phil Robertson is yet another example. Because he has his own TV show and immerses himself in Christian culture every damn second of his life, he believes he is entitled to use homophobic slurs without facing backlash. Donald Trump, Mel Gibson, and Phil Robertson are nothing more than prototypes for Chris Hammer, yet another guy who uses his power to oppress others.

The last time I wrote something as bold as Jumping Jackholes, it was 2012 and I was desperate for novella ideas. And because 2012 was an uneducated year for me, I firmly believed back then that hyperbolic descriptions and unbelievable endings were acceptable. Now we come to today’s world where Jumping Jackholes has been deleted from my archives and this asshole Complete Monster Chris Hammer is left without employment. Normally, using Complete Monsters is a bad thing because it disenfranchises the reader. But just like Mary-Sues, Gary-Stus, and any other character who’s labeled with a literary slur, Complete Monsters come in all shapes and colors. If Chris Hammer gets used again, I will definitely take my fitness frustrations out on him.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“What’s wrong with you, Jamie Noble? Are you upset with me because people actually know who I am? Or is it because unlike you, I can get on all the rides at Disneyland? Don’t worry, Jamie, my six-year-old daughter feels the same way.”

-Randy Orton-