My Heroes Are Assholes

 VERSE 1

My heroes sip champagne from a sunken tub

Their sins can’t be scrubbed with bubbly-bubs

Put dark lords in boxes, I’ll give you my balls

Shoot a few foxes, you gave me The Wall

Slag off on the trans, you gave me an edge

Grab a chick’s cans, you pulled me off the ledge

Get away with murder, you gave me new life

Shame those who eat burgers, you parasocial wife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

VERSE 2

My heroes are older, now they’ve grown colder

Their hatred of young people only gets bolder

No consequences when they kick down defenses

Only Law & Order for those with poverty expenses

To all the foot soldiers, it’s called Cancel Culture

A dog whistle for the machinegun holders

There will be no justice, social or otherwise

Just another day of twisting the butterfly knife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

BRIDGE

There’s only one hero I can truly rely on

Me, myself, and I, it’s the hill I’ll die on

Others paved the way when I was a boy

I walk that road as a man without joy

FINAL LINES

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

Sing a Different Tune

 You butter me up like I’m corn on the cob

Oscar-worthy performance to make me sob

Touch my heart with your fingers and lips

Thirsty fan boys already coming up with ships

But you see who I am, sing a different tune

Bellyful of jelly, peanut butter on a spoon

Head full of dread, awkward to the max

All your kisses and hugs turn into attacks

You throw money at me like a stripper

Looking for poetry to undo your zipper

Stories that will make your soul fly high

You kiss my hand and call me cutie pie

But you see what I write, sing a different tune

Ramblings and rants of a silly little loon

Some swearing, piss, vinegar, and saltiness

Set my book on fire, now you’re assaulting it

You put me in a box before you met me

Now you can’t wait to fucking forget me

Being who I am sent you to a therapist

To complain about my venom and arrogance

Get to know me before you kneel and blow me

Fake promises are all that you’ve shown me

Trying to mold me into something I’m not

Sorry, but my soul could never be bought

All of you motherfuckers will sing a different tune

Not a hint of Happy Birthday in the month of June

Not a Hip-Hip-Hooray or asking if I’m okay

But a nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner and Go Away

I’ve never once been the leader of a choir

A perfect brain child, something I can’t sire

A perfect image of what you all call beauty

Sing a different tune so blue and moody

Burning Tongue

 Swordfight against my stomach acids

Hot sauce covering my shirt like a canvas

Hot pink cheeks and a burning tongue

Pyromantic death inside my lungs

Fifteen chicken wings to earn the respect

Of drunken strangers I’ve never even met

Of bartenders who bring a glass of milk

Of everyone else who wants vicarious thrills

My admirers know nothing about me

Except how much I’m willing to eat

If I told them about my inner struggles

Would they give me love or childish chuckles?

Beer at times makes monsters out of men

Drugs and paranoia put them on the defense

Makes them say things that shouldn’t be public

Racism, sexism, and homophobic fuckups

I leave the bar the same way I came in

Sober and depressed, not a shot of gin

Wouldn’t like the alcohol any damn ways

No sense in crashing and breaking my face

A bottle of Tums when I hit the sack

Not enough room for a midnight snack

Not enough memories to last forever

Except for ones that bring ocular weather

They say tomorrow is another day

Another chance to feel not so okay

Another chance to fuck it all away

Another swallow of pills to ease the pain

At least the wings were good, it’s all I can ask

They’ll feel like a flamethrower out of my ass

Ask me if I’d do it again in a heartbeat?

I’m already starving for some carved meat

Rinse and repeat, get the same results

Stomach ablaze, a heart stone cold

But I’ll never turn down a chance at food

Even with a fucked up brain, I’m in the mood

Even with a fucked up heart, I’ll chow down

Even with a Buddha belly bigger than a cow

Even with cholesterol plugging up my veins

Even with underwear covered in butt stains

Fifteen chicken wings? Give me fifteen more

I’ll keep breaking records for the top score

Earn cheers and high fives from the guys

As the hot sauce makes me sneeze and cry

Paying Your Dues

VERSE 1

All your horror stories will come with a price

All your greatest fears will come back to life

You got your ass cancelled for no good reason

All of your fans have been accused of treason

This is what it means when you pay your dues

Screaming heavy metal, yet singing the blues

Your interest rate is up to a hundred percent

Many more lonely nights is what you’ll spend

CHORUS 1

Paying your dues is what your critics choose

Paying your dues means you sometimes lose

Paying your dues will tax your ass raw

Steel your spine and tighten your jaw

VERSE 2

Nobody said that this would be easy

Nobody said that this would be pleasing

It’s all a part of life if you like it or not

Always somebody to steal your spot

CHORUS 1

Paying your dues is what your critics choose

Paying your dues means you sometimes lose

Paying your dues will tax your ass raw

Steel your spine and tighten your jaw

VERSE 3

Everybody gets what they paid for in the end

Even if it costs them every one of their friends

Even if it costs them their own damn health

Guarantees them a place in their own hell

Despite all the pain, you could fail again

Back to square one, far away from the end

Everyone knows this ain’t a meritocracy

But they cover it up with their own hypocrisy

CHORUS 2

Paying your dues ain’t no ocean cruise

Paying your dues comes with an ego bruise

Paying your dues will break you in half

When you scale to the top, it’s okay to laugh

This is Mount Everest reaching to the stars

This will show the world how tough you are

I hope you get everything you’ve wanted

You and the elite have much in common

"Wrestling, Issue One" by What Culture

BOOK TITLE: Wrestling, Issue One

AUTHORS: What Culture Staff

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Bookazine

GRADE: Mixed

The articles can be fascinating to any hardcore wrestling fan, but not if they suffer from the same typographical errors as the next volume in the series. Vince McMahon’s first name was spelled without an N, the word match had its A capitalized, the word to was all-caps for no apparent reason, need I name more? This wouldn’t be too big of an issue if the typos were few and far between, but they occur so frequently that I can’t give this bookazine a passing grade. A reputable editor with a fresh set of eyes could have easily pinpointed these glaring mistakes and polished this otherwise fine piece of reading material to higher standards.

Typos aside, the articles were actually fun to read, with the glaring exception of WWE vs. Internet Fans. To me, that just sounded like a bitter old man ranting and raving about the inevitable emergence of the internet, as if this new technology is somehow to blame for wrestling being as bad as it can be sometimes. It seems uncharacteristic of What Culture’s writing staff to put out such an article considering they themselves are wrestling critics and employ a mostly millennial workforce. Maybe this particular article author was an outsider from the beginning, I don’t know.

But enough about the negativity. Let’s talk about my two favorite articles in this whole bookazine. Let’s begin with Britney Pillman’s story about how her father, Brian, died of a heart attack while preparing for a WWF pay-per-view. To hear the author describe Britney’s pain as she grew up with a drug-addicted stepmother and without a loving father, it tugs at the heartstrings and makes the reader want to legitimately root for her life to improve. While Britney is in a better place since the tragic incident, she did miss out on royalty payments from the WWF that instead went to the drug-addicted stepmother Melanie Pillman. I wouldn’t wish such poverty and heartache on my worst enemy. We’ve all had to deal with toxic people at one point or another, but I think any reader can agree that Britney and her siblings need a permanent vacation from them. That’s what the author of the article did for me as a reader: put me in the role of cheerleader.

And of course, Adam Blampied’s undying creativity will always be my favorite part of What Culture’s past. Although his recent sex scandal puts me in a tough position with regards to his fandom, I can at least enjoy his vision for how he would book Rey Mysterio’s first World Championship run in WWE. No more will the lovable luchador be jobbed out to everybody and their uncle. He’ll win matches by the skin of his teeth, like a true underdog hero is supposed to. He’ll have credible opponents to put him over the moon. He’ll have blood-curdling storylines that aren’t nearly as despicable with Eddie Guerrero’s legacy as real life was. If Rey Mysterio had been booked under Adam Blampied’s guidance, I would have been a bigger believer in this ultimate underdog. But as it is…

The negatives of this bookazine shouldn’t turn you away from what is ultimately a fun read for all wrestling fans. Typos are easy to fix and even if they wanted to keep the anti-internet fan article, readers could just skip over it. There’s a top 100 wrestling match list,  a fantasy world cup tournament, a nice juxtaposition between Bray Wyatt and his eerie theme song, too many wonderful articles to name. Though not perfect, this work of nonfiction will get a respectable mixed grade out of me.

Circus Seal

VERSE 1

Whether I’m eating dinner with my family

Or on the brink of schizophrenic insanity

Or taking a shit in a public bathroom stall

Or watching a movie that makes me bawl

You must have my attention here and now

It doesn’t matter when, doesn’t matter how

An autograph or a private performance

Neither, pal, now go fuck off into orbit

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 2

It’s not that I hate my own loyal fan base

It’s just that this is neither the time nor place

I need my moments of peace and quiet

If I turn you away, don’t start a city-wide riot

Don’t post my dirty laundry on the internet

My private and public lives do not intersect

Nothing personal, I just want to unwind

In a place where nobody will ever find

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 3

You buy my products, but you’re not my boss

If you despise me, it’s your own damn loss

You don’t own me like a hand puppet master

Threatening me will only make me walk faster

EXTENDED CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

I’m not your favorite bitch

You don’t make me rich

I don’t owe you shit

I’m not your favorite bitch

If I Had Been Vince

(A WWE-themed parody of “Déjà vu” by Roger Waters.)

If I had been Vince

I would have rearranged the veins in my arms to make them more

Resistant to steroids and less prone to injury

If I had been Vince

I would have hired many indie guys and would not have suffered

John Cena to bury even one of them

If I had been McMahon

With my Raw and Smackdown brands

If I had been given the nod

I believe I could have done a better job

If I had been JBL

Patrolling the locker room showers

With an entitled sense of power

And the Twitter feed of a coward

I would be afraid to find Edge alone

I’d have the coldest set of stones

At least until I burn in hell

If I had been JBL

The company’s in ruins

And that’s a damn fact

The cheering fans are gone

The creative well is flat

The matches of dreams with no reason to fight

Because the CEO has to always be right

And it feels like the same old shit

The ratings go down, you’re throwing a fit

Counting the cost of main events lost

Under the mid-card to get slapped by the boss

It’s only $9.99 for the ultimate “April Fools”

Why Won't You Love Me?

VERSE 1

An autograph for your necrograph

Yet you turn away and belly laugh

Tell the world I’m damaged goods

I’m a psycho hiding out in the woods

Imagination short circuited by pills

Wasted potential killed off by the ills

Scandalous past kicking my own ass

The quiet one in the back of the class

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire

VERSE 2

Jealousy is a sincere form of flattery

Exclusion is a real form of battery

Failure is the true root of all agony

Suffering is the beginning of tragedy

I see you flying like a golden angel

My wings are bent at a funny angle

I’ll see you on the bottom of the barrel

I’ll find you when I’m lonely and feral

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire

VERSE 3

My passion won’t allow me to let go

My anxiety won’t allow me to know

The answer to this riddle called life

No matter how I hard I fucking try

They tell me to be patient and wait

Until the day I’m at the pearly gates

Work harder than I’ve ever worked

Until I blow a fuse and go berserk

PRE-CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why won’t you care?

Why do the masses

Give me a blank stare?

Why won’t you love me?

Why won’t you join me?

Could my cries for help

Be that fucking annoying?

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire