Necro Power Plant

Ever wonder how those malls play holiday music?

Keep your internet connection and never lose it?

Keep the lights on in your depressing man cave?

Keep the water warm so you can shower and shave?

 

You can give your thanks to the utility wizards

Necromancy keeps you warm during blizzards

Now that your eyes popped out of your sockets

We run on dead bodies, it’s how we line our pockets

 

Feed the giant slab of rotten gray beef jerky

Through the dynamo of swamp water so murky

Boil them corpses like a pot of spaghetti

Let the green steam get the juicy juices ready

 

What’s the matter, kid? You think this is wrong?

Grab the hippie-dippie guitar, write a protest song

It’s not like we killed the dead bodies ourselves

Who cares when their souls are stuck in hell?

 

Exploiting dead people is a great business model

When politicians do it, the press is sucking milk bottles

When Vince McMahon does it, it’s a sure ratings draw

Whether the corpse has hands or puppy-duppy paws

 

It’s all in bad taste, but it ain’t nuclear waste

We’ve got no souls, but at least it ain’t coal

Call us super villains, we don’t give a goddamn

They’re your lights, bro, you’ve got the wrong man

 

What do you mean we’ve failed the safety inspections?

What do you mean the civil court is now in session?

What do you mean we’ve got to pay a billion dollars?

What do you mean we’ve got debt collecting callers?

What do you mean we’re going right out of business?

What do you mean the plaintiffs got their own star witness?

What do you mean we got to put on these orange onesies?

What do you mean our cellmates are extra snuggly?

Shitting On Your Grave

 I’m shitting on your grave

Like a fucking racehorse

Destroy your tombstone with

A million G’s of force

I’m pissing on your casket

The one draped with the flag

Open the lid and keep going

Make your gray skin sag

I vomit on your flowers

With my stomach full

Of your children’s flesh

And their rotten souls

I burn your mausoleum

With your family inside

They can put out the flames

With the tears they cried

I crash your funeral

Gun down every griever

Stomp the priest to death

Carve him with a cleaver

I taint your history

Slander in every word

Broadcast on every station

Until it’s all that’s heard

I watch you dance in fire

From the heavens above

To the hells below me

Your screams are what I love

You’re nothing but a footnote

In the world’s epic story

I’m treated like a king

Slaying you brings me glory

Trauma is my weapon

More powerful than a bomb

Reduced the world to ashes

All of my enemies gone

I am the war god

I am your worst nightmare

That is if you wake up

That is if you dare

Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaasen

BOOK TITLE: Stormy Weather
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass


A hurricane passing through southern Florida has brought out all types of colorful characters wanting to exploit the stormy weather for their own personal gain. While on a honeymoon with his wife Bonnie, Max Lamb takes his camcorder and films the devastation of the hurricane for his own personal amusement. Edie Marsh and her psychopathic partner in crime Snapper come up with a plan for insurance fraud that involves a little blood splatter along the way on Snapper’s part. Tony Torres is trying to defend himself after several mobile homes he sold were ripped apart during the storm, mobile homes he guaranteed were safe.

In the middle of it all is Skink, a former governor who went off the deep end and became a diehard eco-warrior with loony methods of convincing people not to screw with nature. These weird ass characters and plenty of others come together eventually for a chaotic climax to a story about hurricanes.

If you’ve ever read anything from Carl Hiaasen before, you would take special note of that last word “chaotic”. The crazy characters all have a way of meeting each other and the results of their meetings only serves to intensify the insanity. But this isn’t just any chaos we’re talking about here. This is controlled chaos. That means Carl Hiaasen’s character count is high and he’s actually able to contain and develop them all within 388 pages.

Writing a Carl Hiaasen novel is a lot like running an insane asylum: you’ve got a lot of people to control and occasionally there will be rioting. Add to all of this a hurricane and things get out of hand rather quickly. Mr. Hiaasen must feel more like a babysitter at times instead of an author. I commend his ability to watch over that many people at one time.

I’ve said this before about other novels, but it bears repeating: a happy ending is not about IF it will happen, it’s about HOW. For an author, determining how a happy ending will occur will require believability. If you’re Carl Hiaasen, the happy ending will not only be believable (despite the story being told in a world of lunacy), it will also be hilariously fitting.

The main villain of this story as you will quickly find out is the trigger happy ass-hat known as Snapper, a white supremacist criminal who has a crooked jaw and an all around ugly face. Everybody in this book is guilty of exploitation, but only Snapper is treated as the biggest asshole in the book, no likeability at all. He might even be what TV Tropes calls a Complete Monster. While I won’t divulge what exactly happens to Snapper, I will give you one clue: it involves a certain red “club” that’s used to keep a steering wheel in place and prevent car theft. If your imagination isn’t as wild as Mr. Hiaasen’s, then I suggest reading the book to find out just what the hell I’m talking about.

Every Carl Hiaasen book I’ve read in my lifetime is either giggly, satisfying, agreeable, or all of the above. Stormy Weather is yet another triumph in Mr. Hiaasen’s legacy. He remains one of my favorite authors to this day, especially since he has something I value in a lot of authors: a fast pace. A passing grade will be given to this wonderful novel.