Desilu Thomson, Cooking Professor from "The Accusers"

 

Antonia DiAngelo, Grumpy Grandma from "Emilio & Marigold"

 

Old school Garrison's Library fans will remember me submitting "Emilio & Marigold" to Hollow Hills and getting it published in "Raining Cats & Dogs" in 2020. Hollow Hills have since closed their doors for good. Now Emilio & Marigold will be part of an anthology of fantasy novelettes called Lysergic Fairytales, which I'll do myself.

Run Like a Ninja

The growling in Ashley Garcia’s stomach resembled a demon thirsting for souls. She didn’t care if what she was doing was just as evil as that hell-spawn creature. A bowl of steaming hot ramen took priority over holy-rolling. A loaf of bread swimming in garlic butter was more important than praying on a medieval book for forgiveness. The rumbling in her stomach echoed in her brain like schizophrenia and even a wafer-thin mint would be a perfect antipsychotic. The rattling of her visible ribcage needed to be contained for good and the sacred scroll beneath her would be the key to that lock.

Being a Halfling afforded her the dexterity and balance that she needed to scale down the rope she threw down into the temple’s scroll room. Ashley didn’t want to go too fast for fear of alarming any monks, but slowing down wasn’t an option for her calloused hands and large dirt-covered feet. Just a few more inches, she told herself. A little more. Easy. Easy. Don’t make a sound. Don’t give the monks a reason to wheel kick a thief’s head off.

When she was close enough to drop to the wooden floor, she did so with a feather’s gentleness and breathed a silent sigh of relief. And just like that, the scroll was right there in front of her, resting easily on a piece of ceramic pottery. Ashley’s eyes widened and her hungry stomach settled in anticipation of the lunch money this would bring. When she snatched the scroll from its resting place, she didn’t even bother opening it up. She knew she had what she wanted. She knew any sucker would be lucky to buy such a holy artifact. Ashley would never starve again with this kind of money and that brought a smile to her gaunt face.

And then the sound of a dog growling permeated her fantasies and caused her to swallow a lump in her throat. Slowly she turned around to face the monk she pissed off the most: the captain of the guards himself, Yang Chow. 

He didn’t come armed with any weapons, because his limbs were destructive enough. He didn’t come with any harsh words, because his angry bulldog visage and monstrous growling said everything they needed to say. He didn’t come dressed in thick metal armor, because his red and orange robes were light enough to keep him nimble during times of combat. With his arms folded and his gorgon death eyes locked onto Ashley’s jittery form, it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.

Scroll tucked away in her back pocket, Ashley hopped up the rope and scaled as fast as she could. All the motivation to push her body beyond its limits came in the form of Yang barking up a storm and snapping his teeth like a bear trap. She was almost certain she would lose a foot to this maniacal dog demon. She was almost certain a piece of skin fell from her big toe. But she kept climbing even if it meant aggravating that wound and making it sting like a thousand wasps.

Ashley cursed to herself in a rapid-fire cadence as she made it to the rooftop, Yang still nipping at her heels. With the diagonal curvature of the temple’s roof, she knew this was a perfect time to curl into a ball and roll down the decline like a rogue wheel. And off she went, the shingles scraping against her skin the faster she rolled. Her back burned as though a volcano would erupt from her body, which was a better fate than having her head kicked off by a martial arts puppy-duppy. Still, his barks were no less distant than they were before. They just grew louder and more frustrated.

And then the sudden incline at the bottom of the roof launched her wheel-like body into the air and onto the busy streets below. Ashley landed with such grace that going splat on the concrete wasn’t even a possibility. But the minute she leapt to her feet, dizziness turned her brains into mush and her vision into a splotchy mess. She would have fallen on her ass if not for Yang’s barks becoming even louder than before. 

Even in a sloppy zigzag, she ran down the streets with the agility of a ninja warrior. She flipped over garbage cans. She baseball slid underneath an old man’s legs. She leapfrogged over a food delivery bicyclist and nearly knocked him over. Knowing Yang could chew her like bubblegum gave her the adrenaline boost she needed to run along the walls of a restaurant before flipping over a trolley.

Her heart thudded in her chest like a bomb ready to go off. Her brains rotted into mush on account of not giving herself a chance to recover from dizziness. Her legs and back burned as though someone had branded her with a glowing red iron. Her feet could have fallen off long before she got gangrene from not wearing shoes. And yet, Ashley kept on running and dodging. She leapfrogged over another bicyclist. She flipped over a guardrail. She ran along an awning that almost collapsed under her thunderous force.

Ashley had no destination in mind. She couldn’t even think clearly enough to come up with one, because Yang’s barks and growls were like a screwdriver shoved in her ears. When her eyes watered to the point of blindness and her mind faded to funeral blackness, she crashed face-first into a brick wall and flopped on her back, the sacred scroll rolling out of her grasp. The sound of her nose crunching resembled potato chips she would probably never know the taste of. She breathed heavily despite blood running down her nostrils. If overworking herself didn’t kill her, Yang surely would.

Her vision was obstructed by the heavy pus dumplings under her eyes, but even she knew Yang’s angry face when she saw it. There he was standing over her soon-to-be corpse, arms folded, scroll in hand. He reached down to Ashley, presumably to rip out her heart. Or the least likely scenario of them all, to pull her up to her feet. She could barely stand underneath the weight of body-shredding pain. She couldn’t even look Yang in the eyes, blackened pus pockets aside.

“Aren’t you at all curious as to what this scroll says?” asked Yang in an uncharacteristically soothing voice.

Ashley’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Um…what?”

“You mean to tell me that you stole this scroll from my temple and you don’t even know what it is?” Ashley tucked her head in shame. “Look at me, young lady.” Yang opened the scroll and revealed that they were coupons for restaurant food. Five gold pieces for two octopus burgers. Ten gold pieces for a gallon of broccoli cheese soup. Two packages of beef stew and rice for only one gold piece. Shame hit Ashley in the gut worse than any martial arts punch from Yang would have…even though she no longer expected him to beat her ass.

Yang knelt down to meet her Halfling level and put a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Young lady…you didn’t just steal a document hoping for a quick buck. You did it at the expense of other impoverished people like yourself. The temple where I work isn’t just a religious institution. It’s a shelter for those who need it the most. If you wanted the coupons, we would have shared them with you.”

Ashley’s tears stung her pus lumps like a scorpion tail. “I…I’m sorry…I’ll just…I’ll find another way to…” 

“Enough. I don’t need your apologies. I wouldn’t know what to do with them anyways.”

“What?...What do you mean?”

“Young lady…what you did was as rotten as the food you find the dumpster. It was evil. It was low even for a desperate street thief like yourself.” Ashley’s tears developed into little floods to mix with her nose blood, giving her the ultimate mask of guilt, shame, and defeat. But then Yang said…”I understand why you did it.”

“Huh? You do?”

“You think you’re the only one to try and steal from us? Look around you, young lady. The economy doesn’t favor the poor at all. Impoverished folk are unfairly categorized as lazy while the rich who live off of their backs are lionized to god status. To take the focus away from their own horrific deeds, the rich have the poor fight amongst themselves, steal from each other, treat every meal like it’s a competition. Stealing is the only life you’ve ever known, because you have no other way.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, dog man. I doubt you would trust me again if you knew what I was capable of. I’ve slit many throats just to stay alive. How do you know I won’t slit yours?”

“My martial arts training aside, you know deep down that slitting my throat wouldn’t bring you closer to another meal. Prison food doesn’t count. You deserve better than a prisoner’s life, young lady. When was the last time you even experienced a loving home?”

Ashley swatted Yang’s hand away. “Love? You think love is going to give me something to eat every day? You think it’s going to keep me from sleeping in a dumpster? What makes you think love is going to do anything for me?”

Staying true to his bulldog nature, Yang licked the tears and blood off of Ashley’s face, which made her produce even more tears. The more Yang licked, the more pieces Ashley’s heart broke into, which was saying a lot considering the near-death exercise she put herself through. In a rare act of gratitude and love, Ashley hugged her stubby arms around Yang’s neck, breaking into a full-on crying spell over his orange and red robe.

“Thank you, dog man. Thank you so much! Please, don’t leave me here!”

“I won’t, young lady. In spite of what the privileged believe, nobody gets left behind on my streets. Come with me. Let’s get some food in your stomach.”

The dog monk and Halfling thief walked hand in hand together, Ashley’s waterworks never once drying up. In a world that didn’t care about her, she found someone who did. Life was very much worth living even though she had to learn how to do so all over again. There would be no more thievery and dishonesty, because they weren’t necessary in a truly loving home.

Food-Mindedness and Body Horror

In case it wasn’t already abundantly clear from my 300 lb. belly, I’m very food-minded. Almost everything in my life reminds me of food in some way. Hell, the word Life will conjure images of the oat square cereal swirling around in milk. The word swirling will remind me of frosted cinnamon buns, keyword being frosted, as in enough frosting to cover the whole fucking thing. At least those words make a modicum of sense, but then there are names of people that remind me of food for no reason at all. Marcus reminds me of hotdogs and mustard. Brad reminds me of French bread. Rachel reminds me of apple juice. Erick reminds me of birthday cake-flavored milkshakes. How did this happen? Was it the constant advertising? Was there some trick of the brain during childhood I wasn’t aware of?

Already, my relationship with food is off to a rocky start. But then there are the things I find disgusting in life and how they find their way into my food. Not literally, but I imagine that they do and my imagination is powerful enough to make me vomit in some cases. For example, if you’ve ever seen the movie Clerks, the View Askew Productions logo at the beginning will serve as nightmare fuel to haunt you at every stage of life. There’s nothing wrong with men dressing in fishnet pantyhose, high heels, and leather thongs…even if they do have grotesque body hair. But it’s the unwanted sexual attention and creepiness of his flirtation that makes it such a traumatic logo. After seeing that logo for the first time, I kept involuntarily picturing his hairy disgusting body in pieces of my lunch meat. Every time I take a bite of ham or turkey, I imagine I’m taking a bite out of that man’s body. My stomach is aching and my fingers are convulsing just thinking about this.

But that’s just one example. If that was the only one, then I wouldn’t have been inspired to write an entire essay on it. What about the Calcobrena Puppets from Final Fantasy IV? You know, those creepy leotard-wearing dolls with buzzed heads, bloodshot eyes, zombie movements, and murderous intentions. They look like they could be Pee-Wee Herman’s children based on their buzz-cuts alone. Pee-Wee Herman once taught his audience how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on his show. Therefore…all of my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will taste like the bodies of the Calcobrena Puppets. It’ll be like eating right off of their skulls, head lice, fleas, and maggots be damned. It’ll be like giving French kisses to each and every one of those dolls…while passing pre-chewed sandwiches back and forth! Again, my stomach is boiling and rotting while I’m typing this.

And what about the Simpsons from their Treehouse of Horror Episodes, particularly the ones where they turn into pale zombies. They chew flesh, they lose limbs, they groan like exhausted monsters, and did I mention that they have pale skin? You know what else is pale in color? Pasta covered in white sauce, whether it’s American cheese or Alfredo sauce. Every bite that I took of those macaroni shells made me believe I was eating pieces of the zombie Simpsons. I took a long time to swallow knowing that zombie flesh was going down my throat and was going to poison me to death. The macaroni turned to mush in my mouth, so when I finally swallowed, I gagged and brought up a little bit of bile with it.

If I rattled off every example of food-related body horror, then we’d be here forever and a day. I could talk about the faceless masks from Pink Floyd the Wall reminding me of melted cheese. I could talk about the diarrhea blasts in The Human Centipede reminding me of chocolate ice cream (that one’s too obvious, though). I could talk about dead flies reminding me of Butterfinger ice cream. How did this all happen? Why are these disgusting things finding their way into my every meal? Am I so linked up with food that every trauma will remind me of such? Suppose I was more inclined towards Legos instead of food. If I touched a Lego piece that had three holes in it, would it remind me of the Pink Floyd masks? What if I was geared towards clothing? Would the View Askew drag queen’s body hair remind me of a wool sweater that’s literally hugging my chest?

I can already hear fatphobic assholes using my food horror as motivation for me to lose weight…or is that just my schizophrenic voices? Nah, I’m pretty sure someone has thought of exploiting me at one point or another. To those fat-shamers, I say watch the Human Centipede and eat a bag of shit and then watch Pink Floyd the Wall and eat an entire McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese (there has to be cheese in it, no exceptions). Unlike drugs and alcohol, food is actually necessary to survive. A cheeseburger will carry you over into the next day. A pack of cigarettes will not. A pepperoni pizza will give you the nutrition you need, even if it’s bad. Alcohol will not. If I gave up all of my favorite foods due to the body horror I’ve witnessed over the years, I would die of anorexia. Imagine that: fat-shaming actually hurts people instead of helping them find motivation. It’s almost as if people are only fat-shaming to satisfy their sadistic urges and are just using motivation as a cover-up for their shitty behavior. Bullying never went away; it just adapted to the new world.

I could tell you all that I’ve found the perfect counter for body horror-induced trauma, but I haven’t. Yes, I’m still alive and eating like a pig, but that’s only because the trauma went away on its own. I eat ham sandwiches whenever I damn well please even though the View Askew drag queen lusted on me through the TV screen as a kid. I eat stuffed mushrooms despite the fact that it feels too much like I’m eating Phanto from Mario Brothers 2, the evilly-smiling little bastard. Trauma going away on its own is not a typical outcome for most people, especially if schizophrenia is a factor like it is for me. Sure, you can take away the stimulus and hope for the Law of Diminishing Returns to kick in, but it doesn’t always do that. I have no solutions for your body horror trauma. As a matter of fact, I may have given you some of that as I described examples of how they make their way into my food.

Sometimes I think I’m the only one who experiences things like this until I Google it and find entire communities full of people who share my problems. But that’s assuming I’m not too lazy on any given day to use Google. It’s such an easy thing, yet I find myself too lazy sometimes to type words into a search engine. If you’re out there and you’re as food-minded as me, I’m sorry I can’t provide solutions for you other than the occasional animal picture and some digital hugs. You know who can provide more than that? Your therapist. They can talk you through your trauma. They can encourage you to face your food-themed fears. They can be there for you when you feel like others would laugh at your plight. Yes, therapy can be expensive at times, but it’s worth every penny if it means you’ll be okay in the end. If you’re not okay, it’s not the end. Life is better alive. It’s a dumb thing to say, but the truth won’t wane away. Okay, now I’m just ripping off quotes and lyrics. I should stop doing that before I get sent to prison for copyright infringement and have my vanilla pudding remind me of my cell mate’s semen. Uh-oh! More body horror!

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

Romantic Dinner For One

I look around in this cruise ship restaurant
See things I can’t have, but desperately want
Missed opportunities gone with the wind
Sloth has always been my favorite sin

A newlywed couple celebrating their love
Wife dressed like an angel from the heavens above
Husband feeding her strawberries and cream
Won her over by treating her like a queen

A college graduate partying with his friends
Looking at life through a rainbow-colored lens
He’ll make money most will never ever see
More competitive fuel for his Face Book screen

A child dreaming big as she eats chicken nuggets
Untainted by reality, she appreciates and loves it
Drawing pictures of dinosaurs and dragons
I’m over here trying to fight off the maggots

A sportsball team celebrating their victory
Their names immortalized in gritty history
Eat like heavyweights, move like flyweights
Calories to burn from steaks and white cakes

A pale young man has just beaten his addiction
He could inspire others in a book of nonfiction
Was it heroin, beer, social media, or food?
I could use some ice cream to go with my mood

Whoever said the internet breeds bitter jealousy
Never had to dance to their own tragic melodies
In a room full of strangers who live like kings
Romantic dinner for one, the song that I sing

Don’t need sympathy, just some understanding
I reached for the stars, but had a crash landing
They say there’s no time limit for life to begin
I’m still waiting for the day I can finally win

Covered in Blood

I walk into battle covered in blood

Smelling like ashes, smelling like rum

Looking like the deep fried walking dead

Looking for relief from what’s in my head

I see you on the other side of the street

You could be a mirage from the heat

Or you could be laughing like a jackass

Earning your place among the maggots

I take a bite out of your delicious throat

More pig’s blood to cover me like a coat

Rip out your heart, hell, your whole ribcage

You scream like you’re three years of age

You’ve got some serious pipes for a wimp

Are you sure you don’t belong to a pimp?

If you can feel the pain, you’re still alive

Let’s turn up that shit to a hundred and five

Slurping down your brain through the sockets

Make you fuck your eyes with your own rocket

Pull out intestines and watch the shit flow

Share your corpse with the ravens and crows

The funny thing about this nutritious meal

I get dessert as part of the dinner deal

Who will suffice? Your daughter or wife?

Hell, they left your ass for a much better life

I’ll save my coupons for another day

More satisfying than Mickey D’s anyway

The king of burgers has nothing on this

Sweeter than the redheaded Wendy’s kiss

Pay you tomorrow for a carcass today

My belly is stuffed with violent decay

I burp like a fifteen megaton blast

Nickelodeon slime pouring from my ass

Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight

Try to make it fun, put up a better fight

"The Liberal Redneck Manifesto" by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan

BOOK TITLE: The Liberal Redneck Manifesto: Draggin’ Dixie Outta the Dark

AUTHORS: Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Political Comedy

GRADE: Extra Credit

To an outsider, the American deep south represents everything wrong with the country today whether it’s bigotry, ignorance, or lewd behavior. After reading this book, you’ll find out firsthand that it’s far from the truth. Even I had negative feelings toward the south once upon a time. And then this book came along and gave me a lifelong education worth more than college tuition that no millennial can afford. The problems in the south are nuanced and complex whether it’s poverty, drug addiction, religious zeal, or anything else that rightwing politicians and pundits have purposefully imposed upon it. Nobody wants the south to be in that much trouble, least of all the citizens themselves. For all the negative things I’ve said about that region, I humbly apologize. That’s what this book means to me and that’s part of the reason why I’m giving it a five star review. I always appreciate having my eyes forced wide open…even if the tough love is tougher than a two dollar steak.

Even though this book is categorized as humor, it does have one chapter that almost brought me to tears: Pillbillies. It describes how Purdue Pharmaceuticals aggressively advertised heroin-like pain pills to the south and now addiction has become a national epidemic. The part where Trae Crowder talks passionately about his mother being a pillhead who ruined the family’s life is what hit me the hardest. She would lie, steal, and end up in prison many times before she got clean and sober and even then she was still on thin ice with her son. I used to know somebody who was addicted to drugs and was probably just as dishonest as Trae’s mother. The two of us haven’t spoken to each other for years and that’s how I’d like for it to be. But then Trae has a moment of warmth where he’s more forgiving of addicts because the circumstances that got them addicted were beyond their control. Will I ever forgive my former friend? Only time will tell, but Trae’s story along with his political analysis gave me lots to think about. I like being able to think critically, in case you couldn’t tell.

For all of the dark stuff the south is unfairly stereotyped for, there are times in this book where it feels like a fun place to live. Partying hard to passionate music, shooting guns (responsibly), and best of all, eating the best-tasting food on the planet. Barbecued ribs, salty steak, sweet potato pie, mmm-mmm-mmm! Of course, eating all of that delicious food uncontrollably will lead to diabetes and other health problems, as Trae Crowder will point out with his own experiences as a fat kid. But that’s the redneck way of life: they don’t do anything halfway. They don’t hold back. They don’t live life at anything other than a hundred percent. I’d be lying if I was saying I wasn’t a little bit envious of all of that fun. But then I remember that the south, much like any other place on earth, has its own set of awful problems and trading one life for another isn’t a healthy approach to personal reflection. I’m fine living vicariously through the three authors. With their sense of humor, who wouldn’t want to?

If you learn nothing else from this book, then at least learn to take care of each other and always be kind. That’s what liberalism is supposed to be about, right? Don’t judge strangers too harshly and don’t blame your problems on the wrong people. Be humble, but not so humble that it completely ruins your emotional wellbeing. Thank you, Trae, Drew, and Corey, for all of the tough love and fun times. Reading this book was a welcome experience and I look forward to many more of them. Fun fact: I gave this book to my mom one year for Mother’s Day and she loved it just as much as I did. Like I said earlier, five out of five stars is what this book will get. Congratulations on knocking it out of the park, guys!

I Love My Dog

CHORUS

I love my dog X4

VERSE 1

Schipperke, sweetie pea, fluffy love for me

Fur child, jungle wild, energetic style

Tiny puppy, little chubby, man’s best buddy

Barge dog, he’s the boss, barks like he’s God

CHORUS

I love my dog X4

VERSE 2

Butt rubs, back rubs, bath time scrubs

Slice of ham, rack of lamb, feed the little man

Comfy bed, rest his head, after he’s been fed

Spoil him, pamper him, joyous to the brim

BRIDGE

His name is Willem and he’s my baby

You can pet him too, for sure, not maybe

You can love him, he’s sweeter than candy

A bacon cheeseburger will come in handy

A bowl of cereal will earn his friendship

A permanent home will make it endless

But watch out for his hyperactive spark

He’s so happy that he’ll infinitely bark

CHORUS

I love my dog X4

Island Zealot

A mismatch from the very beginning

There never really was any winning

Nothing in common but our biology

Brought together through technology

I could show you my CD collection

The heaviest hard rock connection

I could show you my shelves of books

Obscure titles with exciting hooks

You could pet my elderly kitty cat

Earn head bumps and purrs just like that

We could talk about power to the people

And try to pretend everything is equal

We could play with my chest of Legos

Make them fight right from the get-go

I could write you a poem or story

That’ll leave your soul freely soaring

We could go for a walk to stuff our faces

With so much food from different places

But it was never really meant to be

I’m an island zealot, but what does it mean?

It means I’m the only one in this room

Who follows my own interests to my doom

I can’t share them with you, you don’t care

You cut me down with a confused stare

All you cared about was my profile picture

Could your shallow intentions get any sicker?

You’d leave me once the beauty fades away

I’m sorry, but I didn’t come here to play

My hair and eyes are my best features, I’m told

But a handsome profile doesn’t equal pure gold

I need someone to be my very best friend

Give it to me or this conversation will end

I don’t need new hobbies or interests, honey

Don’t need a billion dollars worth of hush money

I’m good enough to be my own fucking man

I’m sorry I don’t fit into your devious plans

Happy Thanksgiving 2018

***HAPPY THANKSGIVING 2018***

With all of the political splooge going on in the world today, it’s easy to forget the positives in life. There were times when I forgot as well and took everything I had for granted. It took me a long time to get my positive energies realigned this year, but better late than never. In spite of everything, I have lots to be grateful for in 2018 alone. Isn’t that what Thanksgiving is supposed to be about? You know, aside from the good food, good company, and lots of leftovers? After a few days of Turkey comas, I finally have the energy to write a blog and that in and of itself is something for me to be grateful for. So here they are: things I’m thankful for in 2018.

***ROCK CONCERTS***

Music is more than just a collection of noise. It’s therapy. It’s medicine for the soul. Every concert I go to is a pilgrimage into the holy lands. I’ve been to eight different rock concerts this year and they were all tons of fun. In February I saw Pop Evil and three nights later I saw Starset at the same venue. In May I saw Papa Roach and on Mother’s Day I saw Soulfly at the now defunct Studio 7 in Seattle. In July I saw Breaking Benjamin and Five Finger Death Punch on the same show and at the end of that month I saw Seether. In August I saw Halestorm and In This Moment on the same show and in September I saw Evanescence perform a symphonic version of their music. The Pop Evil concert will always be known for the crazy chick who tried to dance with me, but if not for that moment, I wouldn’t have had one of the three pieces necessary to write Beautiful Monster. The Seether concert will always be known as the time another chick wrapped her arm around mine while they played “Fine Again”. I actually enjoy being seduced by women at concerts, I just don’t know what to do with that attention once I get it. Eight concerts of badass rock and roll to set my spirit on fire: what more could I ask for?

***FAMILY***

Family is always a given topic to be thankful for every time November comes along. People like to look their noses down on adults who live with their parents, but if my parents are fun to hang around with, then what’s the fucking problem? This counts for both sides of my family, whether it’s the Haines clan here in Port Orchard or the Temons clan in Tacoma. And of course, no family is complete without a collection of fur babies. As of today, I have one dog and five cats living with me. That’s a lot of furry friends! Of course, that number used to be much higher, but over the course of this year, two of my cats and one of my dogs has passed away, all due to old age. Maggie the Springer Spaniel dog had to be put to sleep because she was too sick to carry on. Sitka died on her own after battling lung cancer. Smokey had a heart attack and collapsed on my floor. If there’s something to be thankful for in all of this, it’s that I got to give these animal babies a relaxing and comfortable life during their final moments on earth. As far as humans go, my Uncle Brian passed away earlier this month after he fell asleep at the wheel and had a collision with a semi truck. I’m thankful that I introduced him to the music of Within Temptation during his final moments alive. Sharon Den Adel’s voice can be a comfort to him in death. I’ll have to contact her on Face Book and tell her this story one day.

***ONLINE FRIENDS***

As well as the physical Haines and Temons families, I consider my online friends to be my secondary family. I made a new friend on Deviant Art named Patrick Doran and he’s been my biggest supporter when I wrote the first drafts for Silent Warrior, Beautiful Monster, and Incelbordination. Whenever I doubted myself, he was there to bring me to life while still being honest in his critiques of my products. Speaking of critiques, I’ll forever be in Marie Krepps’s debt after she gave Beautiful Monster the ass-ripping it so desperately needed. I don’t know what I’d do without that wonderful woman. I’d probably get one and two star reviews on my books. She’s that good when it comes to critiques. I’m also thankful to her and her business partner Aurora Styles for allowing me to be part of their Still Standing anti-bullying anthology (I wrote Savage Beatings). They were even there for me when I felt like quitting because I thought I angered the other authors in the collection for my offensive content. On the contrary, they were very understanding of me and still thought of me as a valuable asset. That’s what true friendship is all about, ladies and gentlemen: believing in each other even when the chips are down. Speaking of which, hopefully I’ve been a good friend to Kelly Damon a.k.a. Rainbow Skychild, an Author Tuber who recently went through a depressing breakup with her now ex-boyfriend Sean. I would hug her for the longest time if I lived anywhere near South Africa (her home country). So many online friends, so little time!

***WING WEDNESDAYS***

Back in…I want to say September of this year, my brother James and I started going to hot wing restaurants every other Wednesday with his group of awesome friends. I was shy around them at first like I normally am with new people, but these friends made it easy to come out of my shell. Apparently, I have a high tolerance for spicy foods and eating them without flinching will earn me a lot of respect. One night I ordered a platter of Death Wish wings, which are the spiciest flavor the Tracyton Pub has. I ate four of them and I gave one to James’s friend Ian. I was just sitting there with a “meh” expression on my face while Ian was watery-eyed and snot-nosed after just one wing. When other members of the group offered me their wings, I made a “come at me” motion with my hand and chowed down without tearing up. I also laughed like a crazed hyena at their jokes, which made them want me around even more. Of course, we didn’t have Wing Wednesday this week because Thanksgiving was the next day and lord knows the restaurants would have been packed. No worries, because we’ll be back in full swing the Wednesday after this one. I’ll be patiently waiting!

***CONCLUSION***

Things may be rough in the world today, but if you take your time and look hard enough, you’ll find something to be grateful for. And when you do, carry that feeling with you not just until next Thanksgiving, but for the rest of your life. The world desperately needs a dose of happiness after all we’ve been through. I’m Garrison Kelly. Be good to each other.

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

When you’re a politician greeting the public, don’t forget to kiss hands and shake babies. Wait a minute, do I have those things mixed up? Nah!

Incelbordination, Chapter 5

Oswald didn’t believe he had to look ritzy for this trip to McDonald’s (and really, who did?). A departure from the gloomy trench coat attire, however, was definitely in order. A hot shower to melt away the pot stench from his hair and skin. A roll of deodorant to make him at least slightly below bearable to be around. No haircut or shave for him, though, just a ponytail in back and braids in his beard. Completing his Supreme Gentleman look was a pair of glasses that didn’t help him see better, a blue T-shirt that said “Your Favorite Author Sucks”, and a pair of gray jeans that didn’t feel overly tight. He gazed at his gift card one more time before smiling and exiting his dorm.

He didn’t need his MP3 player that evening, just a nice tune to whistle. The sun crept underneath the horizon and gave way to a brilliant dark blue sky. The breeze against Oswald’s skin was pleasantly cool, a stark contrast from the blazing spring weather in the daytime. Tonight was the night it would finally be over. Tonight, tonight, tonight, hot damn tonight! Any guilt he felt about going through with this was completely washed away by the potent smell of greasy fast food wafting through the air.

Conspicuous by their absence was a hoard of hungry costumers, leaving Oswald to wonder where the hell the hookers were. Then again, prostitution was a secretive business by nature, so maybe they wouldn’t come parading down the street right away. The little person placed his order of two Double Quarter Pounders with Cheese, a twenty-piece McNugget without sauce, two breakfast burritos, and two medium Cokes. The way the lady behind the counter smiled and winked at Oswald made him slightly uncomfortable, like she was at least dimly aware of what was going through the dwarf’s mind. Nonetheless, she charged the gift card and two minutes later handed him the food, which he took outside.

Oswald sat down on the curb and scouted the parking lot for potential visitors. Nobody. Not a single soul. Hopefully, the lack of occupants included undercover cops. Oh, god help Antero of Oswald got arrested this evening. Dick punches would be the least of his concerns. The dwarf started gnashing on one of the cheeseburgers and got a little glob of grease on his favorite T-shirt. “Shit, goddamn it!” he said to himself before wiping down his clothing.

The little person was so lost in thought that he failed to notice a slender shadow falling over him, dimly lit skies aside. He jumped slightly at the sound of a feminine voice saying, “Hi!” to him. Sure enough, there was a lovely young lady smiling down at him while holding her hands in front and swinging from side to side ever so innocently. She even wore his favorite outfit: a tanktop, short shorts, and sexy sandals. Oh, this was too perfect to be true. “Can I have some of that? I haven’t eaten all day today.”

“Um…sure! Have a seat,” said Oswald nervously. As she sat next to him chewing on a breakfast burrito, the little person’s nerves spiraled out of control, making him crave a ready roll as easily as he did the food. He didn’t know the terms of how this was supposed to work. Was there a code word of some kind? Were they supposed to eat first and then fuck? What was the going rate for this kind of deal?

The girl did no favors for Oswald’s nerves as she patted his shoulders and asked, “How are you doing tonight? You want some company?” Bless his heart, the little guy couldn’t get his words out coherently. “Wow, you’re tense tonight. Is something wrong or are you just nervous?” Still unable to form a reasonable sentence, Oswald nodded and the girl giggled at him. “Aww, that’s so sweet! I like it when guys get nervous around me. It shows that they care. Makes business a lot easier.”

“B…business?”

“Yeah, business. I take it that’s why you’re here, right? You know, aside from having a good meal and all.”

Oswald’s jaw stopped quivering long enough so he could ask the most important question of his freedom-loving life: “How old are you?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

Oswald buried his face in his hands and said, “Oh my god” over and over again. “I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

He tried to get up and leave, but the teenaged prostitute’s hand grasped his and her eyes had the puppy-dog expression locked in. “Where are you going? You can’t leave me here.”

Jerking his hand away, Oswald said, “Not only can I leave you here, but that’s what I plan to do. I ain’t going to prison for you, sweetheart. I’m not that desperate for a cherry pop. Hell, I’ll probably get my cherry popped in prison instead of a fucking McDonald’s parking lot!”

She grabbed his wrist and begged him, “Please? I’ll do whatever you want me to do as long as you don’t leave. I can’t go back home right now. My dad’s going to kill me!”

“Yeah, and your dad’s going to kill me too if he finds out we’ve been bumping uglies. I’d probably prefer getting killed over spending at least one minute in the sex offender registry. Sorry, toots, it’s not happening. Here, take your McDonald’s meal and leave me alone. It’s all yours. You’ve more than earned your share tonight. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go punch Antero in the dick.”

“Who’s Antero?”

Tucking his chin to his chest, Oswald sighed, “It’s best if you never find out. But if you see him before I do…run!” The little person yanked his wrist away and stomped away from the fast food restaurant, leaving the underage prostitute in a heap of tears and hopelessness. Part of him couldn’t help but feel bad for her, knowing she had an enraged father to go home too. Images of her getting badly beaten flashed through his mind and sent a cold tremor through his body. What he wouldn’t do for a ready roll at this moment.

Once he sufficiently widened the gap between himself and the teenager, Oswald leaned against the lamp post huffing and puffing, though he didn’t do any exercising to warrant such exhaustion. Instead his tiredness was a byproduct of his nerves raging throughout his body. So much anxiety pooling in his stomach like a biblical flood. So much anger boiling in his brain and giving him a monstrous headache. He hammer punched the lamp post a few times and let out a few choice swear words to whoever was listening. He made a big mistake by leaving his marijuana in his dorm room. He came even closer to making a bigger mistake and paying for it with two-hundred percent interest.

Oswald stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and trudged down the street muttering to himself, “I’m going to kill that motherfucker” over and over again, obviously referring to Antero Magnus. A five finger dick punch wasn’t good enough for that ass clown. Dunking his head in the McDonald’s deep fryer? That sounded a lot more like poetic justice.

Before he could spend too much time in his own thumping head, a burgundy car pulled up beside him and a raven-haired woman behind the wheel rolled down her window to engage Oswald in conversation. “Are you Oswald Crow?”

“If anybody were him, it’d be me.”

Flashing a police badge, the woman introduced herself as, “Detective Mia Barry. You and I have a long chat ahead of us. Hop in the car. I’ll take you for a ride.”

Chuckling nervously and waving his hands in defense,  Oswald said, “Nah, I don’t need a ride. My dorm room is only a few blocks away. I can make it there myself, but thanks.”

“I don’t think you understood me, Mr. Crow. I’m not asking you to get in the car. I’m telling you. Like I said, we’ve got a lot of shit to talk about.” Oswald gazed at the detective with frightened eyes. “What’s the matter? You need help getting in or do you just not want to cooperate with me tonight? If it’s the latter, I’ll have no choice but to haul you in.”

“…N…Nah, it’s okay, I can get in.” Oswald slowly trudged towards the passenger seat and let himself in, feigning a struggle just to draw out the time. Once he clicked his seatbelt in, the two of them drove off into the night together. What Detective Barry wanted to talk about was anybody’s guess, but it probably involved Oswald nearly making a huge fucking mistake in the McDonald’s parking lot. The little guy’s saliva gulp tasted too much like hamburger meat and shame.

Favorite Book Memories

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

I hope everybody had a wonderful Christmas this year, filled with family togetherness and of course, plenty of sweet ass presents (can’t forget those, hehe!). One of the things I got this year is shower gel that looks like a blood bag. I wonder what I’ll look like after I scrub myself with it. I’ll probably look like I just came back from a violent mosh pit. Oh dear. Hehe!

***FAVORITE BOOK MEMORIES***

Of course, the key to celebrating a holiday successfully is gratefulness for everything and everyone you have. And thus we have the topic for today’s blog, my five favorite book memories. This was originally done in a You Tube video by fellow author Jenna Moreci and I figured it was a good idea for me to do a list myself. Five doesn’t have to be the definitive number, but it’s one that works for both me and Jenna Moreci. If any of you, my lovely readers, want to do this, you’re more than welcome to. I’m actually curious to see what you guys put down as your favorite book memories. This can be anything from reading a book to writing one to buying one to…anything, really. Without flapping my gums any further, here are my top five in no particular order:

1. Reading “The Cleaner” by Brett Battles and becoming a full-time reader because of it. Stephen King said it best when he claimed if you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time nor the skills to write. I didn’t start taking this advice seriously until mid-2009 when I only had one more college class to take before I graduated. I certainly wouldn’t have become a born-again reader with the novels and memoirs my teachers had me read in college. While some of them were good and therefore worth rereading, most of them bored me to tears and made me regret taking those classes. I know college is supposed to be more about education than entertainment, but come on, seriously? When I read Brett Battles’ spy novel “The Cleaner”, I learned how much fun reading really can be. It was a fast paced book that spared me from the feeling of dragging my eyes across concrete. And thus began a long legacy of awesome reading and hopefully awesome writing on my part to go with it. I say hopefully with a lot of emphasis.
2. Joining the WSS. I know this sounds like I’m sucking up, but trust me, it isn’t. Sucking up implies that you don’t mean what you say. When I say that joining the WSS was one of the five best book-related things to happen to me, I say it with every fiber of my being. This Good Reads group holds weekly short story and poetry contests with no special prizes, just a friendly victory. Even more important than getting a victory is getting helpful advice from your peers, who in this case are empathetic and wise when it comes to their critiques. They taught me so much over the years and motivated me to turn the first installment of American Darkness into something that wasn’t cow shit. I’m still a zealous member of the WSS today and will be until the end of forever.
3. Befriending Marie Krepps. Just like the WSS, Marie, my beautiful beta reader and critique partner, has shown me the light when it comes to pumping out readable works of art. Her own published books and short stories are always delightful to read, so she knows what she’s talking about. She has a wicked sense of humor when she critiques my work, thus making the process as painless as possible. Unfortunately, she currently has a lot going on in her life that keeps her from doing what she wants to do, but even so, I’m grateful for every piece of advice and every review she’s given me over the years. I hope she can get things sorted out soon, because there are times when I miss having my Babe-a-Licious Mondo around. I call her that because of the Bubblicious Mondo chewing gum commercials of the mid-1990’s. She loves it. Hehe!
4. Reading “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky. Never before has a book ripped my heart to shreds and glued it back together again like this simply-written piece of young adult literature. A la Charlie, I know what it’s like to sit on the sidelines and love my favorite women from afar. We’re both introverts who don’t want to screw things up by putting ourselves out there. We both need our Sams and Patricks to bring us out into the light. While Charlie got to have the social experiences he wanted, I remain in the darkness. I am both frustrated and heartbroken when I see things through the eyes of Charlie. Thanks, Stephen Chbosky, for bringing me closer to tears than I’ve ever been.
5. Writing the Poison Tongue Tales story “Sitka the Nose Biter”. On the surface, this seems like just another fantasy story lost in the shuffle of much bigger projects. But Sitka the Nose Biter has sentimental value to me. The main character, Sitka, is a real life cat I adopted back in 2013. Her gray puffy fur and diva-like face reminded me of a witch or a cookie monster. Apparently, the people at Cat of the Day dot com had the same cute opinion of her and wanted to feature her on the homepage of their site. Because of Sitka’s celebrity status, an old WSS friend named Nicky encouraged me to write a children’s short story based on the little sweetie pie. And thus began the rolling snowball of stories based on pets I have and Cat/Dog of the Day nominations for those same animals. Another sentimental part of this story is that it was written two weeks after I wrote a short story called “Tainted Love” that angered a lot of my readers for being sexist. I felt extreme sadness over the course of those two weeks, but perked right up when everyone ooed and ahed over my lovable Sitka girl.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: my five favorite book memories over the course of my career, which actually began in 2009 since that’s when I started taking reading seriously. All of the movie scripts and videogame synopses I wrote before that don’t count since I was flying blind the entire time. Plus, looking back at those old pieces of writing, I’m secretly proud of how far I’ve come since then. As a bookmark I had in fourth grade once told me, “Readers are leaders!” It’s a cheesy slogan that my dad beat to death on a regular basis, but it’s no less true. Reading is an educational and imagination-provoking experience that everybody should have. The key is finding what you like and not being discouraged by what bores you. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

And now that we’re on the topic of old writing, here’s a synopsis I wrote back in 2013, which is painfully obvious based on how fucking short it really is. It’s for a story called “Don’t Tell Me Who to Love” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Rich Lucas, College President

2.      Keith Hamlet, Math Professor

3.      Vikki Peters, Keith’s Student Affair

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Rich calls Keith into his office for a possible termination due to the latter’s affair with Vikki. Keith gives his boss false answer after false answer until he can’t stand it anymore and tells him, “Don’t tell me who to love!”

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Because my current list of truly unique American Darkness 3 characters is depleting fast, I’ve added nearly the entire roster of what will be called Poison Tongue Tales 3 to the list. While the next character won’t be from that series, she will be from a novel I’ve been hesitant to write due to its mature content rating and possible offensiveness. She’s Tina Ryan, a sultry guitarist from Puberty X Piracy. Wish me luck!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

REINA: Chew with your mouth closed!

ME: I’m an American! I can eat however I want! I’m more American than Hulk Hogan!

REINA: Mouth closed!

ME: You’re infringing on my American rights!

REINA: You’re infringing on my ears!

Tastes Like Chicken

(As a parody of “Back From the Dead” by Skillet.)

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

Hot and crispy in the deep fryer

‘Cause you all try to wolf me down

A big belly for the hungry buyer

Putting on a hundred more pounds

The extra carbs bulking up your thighs

A diabetes pen just to stay alive

The Colonel comes out at night

He’s gonna cook me

He’s gonna eat me

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken

Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin

Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack

Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back

Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

Eat the skin, it’s the best part

Take a six or seven hour nap

Unleash the beast, a typhoon fart

Now your bed is full of piss and crap

The extra carbs bulking up your thighs

A diabetes pen just to stay alive

The Colonel comes out at night

He’s gonna cook me

He’s gonna eat me

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken

Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin

Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack

Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back

Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

Deep fried, homicide, a beached whale in the tide

Mashed potatoes on the side

Feeling full, feeling wide

The Colonel comes out at night

He’s gonna cook me

He’s gonna eat me

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok

Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken

Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin

Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack

Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back

Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice

‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight

Dead tonight!

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok dead tonight!

B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!

I'm Back From NOLA

***I’M BACK FROM NOLA***

If you’ve seen my Face Book posts about this particular vacation, you’ll notice the central themes of exhaustion and crabbiness. Truth is, though, it wouldn’t be right to complain about sleep schedules and lack of private time when many of my readers would kill for a chance to have fun in New Orleans, Louisiana. Why wouldn’t they? The food is next-level delicious, the eye-candy is sweeter than their actual desserts (that’s saying a lot!), and the weirdness of the late-night partying gives the city its individuality. Aren’t vacations supposed to be about having a good time anyways?

The first day of the vacation was Sunday, which means lots of airplane and taxi riding. If you’re traveling to New Orleans, your ass-numbing patience will be rewarded with a delicious dinner of tender and juicy rib-eye steak, soft and salty French fries, and some fried oysters that everybody can share (with good reason). Even before entering the restaurant, if you’re in this scenario, you get to meet a crazy guy who calls his little doggy a “reincarnated angel in animal form”. Come to think of it, if I didn’t know how weird New Orleans can be, I’d swear that guy owns a windowless van. Hehe! Nah, that’s mean. He had a good puppy-duppy, I mean, angel from heaven.

The second day was all about riding a boat through the swamplands and getting to see some awesome creatures in their natural habitat. There were so many gators in that swamp that you’d swear Karen Russell’s novels took place in New Orleans instead of Florida. We also got to see some wild piggies, some of whom were affectionately named Male Chauvinist Pig, Piggy Smalls, and Notorious PIG. Goddamn, that tour guide had a wild sense of humor. He even made a few wisecracks about throwing his guests overboard since they were “live bait”. And when we pulled into the dock, we got to pet small kitties hanging out at the ticket office. There was a tuxedo kitty, a panther-looking kitty, a gray and white beauty, and a shy Siamese sweetie that reminded me of Luna-Tuna. So many animals in one day!

Dia numero tres (forgive me if my Spanish is off) was spent going on a van tour of the city and learning all about the history of this wild and crazy city. Houses were purposefully raised to deal with flooding, some of them high enough to fit an entire level underneath. When Hurricane Katrina did its damage, it wasn’t he levies that broke. It was the rising level of the lake, a lake which feeds off into the Gulf of Mexico. From what I’ve seen, New Orleans still has quite a bit of work to do in recovering from this environmental disaster. Theme parks need to be restored, buildings need to be used, and schools need to be reopened. It can and will be done. If there’s anything you can learn from the people of New Orleans, it’s that they can persevere through anything and keep their smiles alive in the process.

The fourth day was easily the most eye-opening and educational part of the vacation. We visited Whitney Plantation and got to learn about the oppressive lives of black slaves. Our tour guide, Ali, even said that the alternative right racists have nothing on the slave owners back in the 1700’s and 1800’s. Owning slaves wasn’t just about physically beating someone into submission. It was psychological torture as well. The slaves lost their names, their culture, their education, and their family structures thanks to this disgusting business of treating human beings like property. Visit Whitneyplantation.com to see just how fucked up of a past we have. Racism is real, slavery is real, and both still exist in other forms in today’s world.

The fifth and final day was spent wandering around the French Quarter looking for various shops to pay a visit to. My mom got a facial at a beauty shop and the European lady who performed that service told me that I was “cute and handsome” and that she wishes she had a mommy like mine. My face was redder than the Communist Manifesto. I’m just kidding, I don’t write like that. Hehe! Dale visited various candy shops and got his fill of chocolates and pralines. I got a full body reflexology massage that relieved the stresses of travel and lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders. I also went to the toy store and bought a Lego dragon from the Ninjago franchise, so expect Toy Universe photos in the near future.

This is the second time I’ve been to New Orleans, the first being Halloween in 2011, where I walked down Bourbon Street dressed as a druid. If I ever go there again for Halloween, I’m going dressed as Corey Taylor from Slipknot. Even the late-night partying weirdoes of that city would back away in fear, just like they do in Port Orchard. Hehe! All in all, the tiredness and travel was worth it for five days of necromantic culture and educational history. I’m not sure I’d want to do another long-distance vacation again for a while, but hey, that’s what I have concerts for, which are really just one-day vacations. In June, it’s Roger Waters. In July, it’s Brit Floyd. In August, I have separate dates for Green Day, Metallica, and Incubus. And now in October, it’s Linkin Park with Snoop Dogg opening for them.

It’s easy to feel crabby and whiny when you’re tired all the time, but never forget to be grateful for all of your positive experiences. Home is always waiting for you, sleep is not too far behind, and your best memories will last a lifetime. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

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

Now that Demon Axe is in the rear view mirror (at least until I recruit Marie-Pie to help me edit it), I’m going back to writing short stories to include in Poison Tongue Tales 2 and American Darkness 2. With the theme this week being “Call of Nature”, my story will be called “The Geomancer” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Bryan Valencia, Geomancer
2. Ally Bennett, Hiker

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Geomancy requires the wizard to be in touch with nature. It is, after all, the Greek word for “earth magic”.

SYNOPSIS: Ally is hiking in the mountains when she stumbles upon Bryan casting some sort of spell on the summit. When she asks him about it, he openly admits to wanting to cause a volcanic explosion. He’s a misanthrope who’s fed up with the atrocities humans have committed over the years whether it’s rape, war, genocide, or street violence. One blast from this volcano will be powerful enough to literally set the world on fire. It’s up to Ally to talk him down since she’s the only one who believes in Bryan’s geomantic powers.

***SPEAKING OF POISON TONGUE TALES***

I got feedback from my awesome friend Andy Peloquin regarding this lysergic collection of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror stories. Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete it because it was “too trippy” for his tastes. I don’t feel bad at all about that. In fact, I take it as a compliment that he thought he was on acid during his reading adventure. Hehe! I’m the same guy whose favorite movie of all time is Pink Floyd the Wall despite the creepiness of the schoolchildren’s faceless masks. This is a blog entry about New Orleans, so that only adds to the trippiness of it all. If Andy is reading this, I want to thank him for taking the time to read what he could and that there are no hard feelings, only yuk-yuk chuckles.

***BOOGER THE CLOWN***

During the flight home to Washington state, I jotted down ideas for novels in my Lego journal and came up with…”Booger the Clown”. Before you laugh like a donkey at that title, know that it’s an urban fantasy novel idea that deals with depression. Watch You Burn deals with schizophrenia, Occupy Wrestling deals with hair-trigger tempers, and most recently Demon Axe deals with PTSD. Now it’s time to talk about depression, so without further delay, here’s a beginning and middle synopsis for “Booger the Clown”:

CHARACTERS:

1. Andrew Gale a.k.a. Booger, Depressed Clown
2. Stupid Dog, Stray Schipperke
3. Orc Army
4. More to be Named

BEGINNING SYNOPSIS: After a tour of duty in the Middle East, gangsta rap-loving ex-marine Andrew Gale comes home with crippling depression and can only find work as a birthday clown named Booger. On his way to a party, his car breaks down and all he wants to do is sit on the side of the road and drink beer while listening to violent music. When an orc approaches him with a blade and an attitude, Booger thinks it’s just a drunken hallucination and encourages the beast to kill him. The orc becomes stunned at Booger’s suicidal behavior and ends up getting his ass kicked himself. After the battle, the clown finds an abandoned schipperke on the side of the road and calls him Stupid Dog due to his finger biting habits when being fed.

MIDDLE SYNOPSIS: Booger reveals that he didn’t join the marines because of personal politics or even the thrill of war. He joined at a lied-about age so that he could one day be physically and mentally strong enough to kick his abusive father’s ass.

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

Just once I’d like to buy a birthday cake for someone, put candles in it that look like penises, and tell the birthday boy to, “Blow them out”.

New Orleans Vacation

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION***

From Sunday May 14^th to Thursday May 18^th, I’m going on yet another vacation, this time to New Orleans with my parents and my mom’s two friends Mina and Navin. This will be my second time visiting the city with my first time being in 2011. I always joke to my mom that she’ll get to meet Duane Pride from NCIS: New Orleans and have pumpkin pie with him. It really is a fun and lively city with lots to do. The food is next-level delicious no matter what you’re eating, the necromantic culture is jam-packed with creative fuel, and the swamps are thriving with fascinating creatures. I’ll try to take some pictures and post them to my social media accounts. Unlike the Mexican cruise, I won’t be surrounded by water, so my camera will stay safe and dry.

Just like with any vacation I take, this means limited access to the internet. However, it’s slightly less limited since there’s a good chance I’ll have my laptop fixed before we leave for the airport. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be cranking out Demon Axe chapters, raunchy poetry, and two-sentence horror stories like crazy. On the contrary, this is a vacation and vacations are meant for relaxing, not work. If all goes right with the laptop repair, then I’ll be able to vote in the proceeding WSS contest. As far as entering something, since I’m leaving this Sunday, I’ll have to hit the ground running if I want to get that epilogue from Demon Axe in on time. It can be done, however. Epilogues are so easy to write that I can do it standing on my fucking head.

This is a shorter vacation than what I’m normally used to, so you won’t have to do without me for that long. I’ll always come back to snuggle with my own kitties and sleep in my own bed. Vacations are fun, but coming home is always heavenly. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd! It’s a goofy fucking name! “Hi, what’s your name?” “Tooooooodd! I’m Todd! And this is Blake and Blair and Blaine and Brent.” Where are all of these goofy fucking boy’s names coming from? Taylor, Tyler, Jordan, Flynn. These are not real names! You want to hear a real man’s name? Eddy. What happened to Eddy? He was here a minute ago. Joey and Jacky and Johnny and Phil. Bobby and Tommy and Danny and Bill. What happened, Toooooooodd?! And Cody and Dylan and Cameron and Tucker. Fuck Tucker! Tucker sucks! And fuck Tucker’s friend Kyle! There’s another soft boy’s name for you! Soft names make soft people! I’ll bet you anything that ten times out of ten, Nicky, Vinny, and Tony will beat the shit out of Todd, Kyle, and Tucker!”

-George Carlin-

Seaside Vacation

***SEASIDE VACATION***

From May 3^rd to the 5^th (Wednesday through Friday), I’m headed out to Seaside, Oregon for a vacation with my parents. I’ve been to this city three different times and it never loses its beauty. Dog friendliness, fun beaches, lovely weather, good food, and lots to do; that’s Seaside in a nutshell. During these three days of rest and relaxation, there will be no creative output from me other than reading my book and maybe some photography (which I won’t upload until after I get home). However, since the WSS contests begin every Wednesday with a new prompt, I’ll only be gone until Friday, so that means I have Saturday to recover and Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to pump out the next chapter of Demon Axe. Keep your fingers crossed that I get to do some writing before the next contest. There will be another vacation I’ll tell you guys about two weeks from the Seaside one, so look forward to that blog entry in the near future. I may be gone, but I’ll always come back and chitchat with my awesome audience. I may even do some of that when I’m using the hotel computer or an internet café. See you later, alligators!

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 22***

The novel’s almost over, folks. Just this chapter and an epilogue are all I have left. I don’t want to give away too much of chapter 22 because I ended chapter 21 on a cliffhanger. Roger Zee sees something out in the distance that keeps him from slashing the hell out of our main heroes. If you’ve figured out what this is, then congratulations to you. If you haven’t, enjoy the surprise. Hopefully it won’t translate to a Deus Ex Machina surprise.

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

If John Cena and Nikki Bella ever decide to have a child together and it’s a daughter, they probably shouldn’t name her Tina. Nothing says “Gooker Award Winner” like a grown woman named Tina Cena.

McDonald's Prostitute

VERSE 1

Which tastes worse: the blowjob or the burger?

Which is more sadistic: slavery or murder?

Which is more dangerous: the fries or the lies?

Which is more confusing: the whats or the whys?

Stretched so thin like lying on a torture table

Scraping up whatever small change you’re able

Put on the pounds and make orgasmic sounds

Nobody will help you in this selfish town

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 2

What ice cream do you want: vanilla or chocolate?

Where’s your money: in your purse or your pocket?

Where do you call home: the bridge or the streets?

What’s the ending to this story: victory or defeat?

I would never judge you for your desperation

I would never insult you or give you lacerations

It’s not your fault and you’re not in the wrong

Have my twenty dollar bill and the lyrics to this song

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 3

A triple bacon burger with onions and pickles

A man in black robes with a sick-looking sickle

The loneliness will kill you before the food does

A disgusting fucking joke is what this all was

Everybody wanted it to go wrong from the start

They vote with their balls and not with their hearts

Now they can’t even fill up their shopping carts

Except with their last possessions and metal parts

CHORUS X2

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

My Body

VERSE 1

My body’s a temple, my mind is the priest

Society’s standards don’t apply in the least

I never resist a Thanksgiving-style feast

Take an alligator bite out of the roasted beast

There’s no shame in having a belly like mine

As long as your meal tastes delicious and fine

Never mind the magazines, they only print lies

Everybody loves the taste of salty French fries

CHORUS

I’ll eat how I want; I’ll do what I please

Shallow values will bring you to your knees

My body, my rules; don’t tell me what’s cool

Your muscle head makes you a giant fool

VERSE 2

You’ve got a stacked chest and chiseled arms

The steroids you take are bringing you harm

The smoothies you drink taste like raw sewage

Spinach and splooge, how could you do it?

You laugh at anybody with a big old gut

Tell them to lay off the food at Pizza Hut

Tell them to do sit-ups until their abs are sore

You’re the one with your legs up like a whore

CHORUS

I’ll eat how I want; I’ll do what I please

Shallow values will bring you to your knees

My body, my rules; don’t tell me what’s cool

Your muscle head makes you a giant fool

VERSE 3

I don’t give a shit who’s on the magazine covers

I don’t give a shit about your supermodel lovers

I don’t give a shit about your Cross-Fit routine

You’ve still got balls the size of jelly beans

Quit stabbing yourself with the needle full of juice

Before your heart stops and your bowels are loose

You’re not Arnold Schwarzenegger or Terry Crews

You’re just a jock frat boy with too much booze

CHORUS 2

I’ll eat how I want; don’t give me advice

I’ll have the crispy duck with beef fried rice

My body, my way; I’ll be here all day

And live longer than you anyway

I’ll eat how I want; I don’t give a fuck

All those exercises must really suck

You torture your body for the hottest chicks

The bigger the needle, the smaller the dick

Cold and Scared

One month was all it took. One month of missed paychecks, lost sleep, hyper-vigilance, and moodiness was all Officer Casey Rasmussen needed to find what she needed to find…at least she was sure she did. This forest had to be the place. If not, then the baggy eyelids, messy hair, and hunched over tiredness would continue for another month. The trail might have been colder than the nighttime air by the time Casey checked out this lead.

The officer pulled her puffy coat over herself even tighter while shining a flashlight on the dirt trail. The foot prints were deep and fresh, which meant someone had been here recently. Another good sign was the distinct print pattern of someone wearing size thirteen sneakers. A tiny smile formed on Casey’s face as her teeth chattered and her breath became steamy. If these footprints went on forever, she would walk forever. This was too good of a lead to throw away those sleepless nights.

Just a powerful yawn and a few more steps later and Officer Rasmussen’s flashlight shone brightly in the face of a shivering twenty-something sitting against the tree with little to protect him from the cold other than tattered blue jeans and a ripped hooded sweatshirt. Size thirteen sneakers as well; it was definitely him. But what the hell was this young man doing with a dream-catcher in his shaking hands?

“Eric Bradley? My name is Officer Casey Rasmussen. I’m here to bring you back home to your mother. You’ve been gone for a whole month. She’s worried sick about you. Come on, let’s get you warmed up in the car.”

But as Casey approached the shaky and erratic manchild, he crawled backwards while holding the dream-catcher in her face like a priest with a crucifix. “Stay back! I don’t want to go back home! She’s evil! She poisons my food! She wants to make me into one of her zombies!”

The cop laid her weapons belt on the ground, a belt which contained a pistol, pepper spray, and a stun gun. While holding her hands up in surrender, she kicked the belt off to the side, but not too far out of sight. “I’m not here to hurt you, Eric. Your mother doesn’t want to hurt you either. You don’t mean those things. How long has it been since you’ve taken your schizophrenia medication?”

“Not long enough!” shouted Eric. A tense silence hung in the frigid night air, making chatters and shivers even more audible between the nervous cop and civilian. Even in pants-wetting fear, Eric held that dream-catcher like it was his own version of a pistol, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Casey tiptoed over to Eric, who crawled backwards just as slowly until the cop caught up with him and sat next to him against one of the trees. Mr. Bradley’s hostility soothed into calmness as he threw his dream-catcher to the side and gently rested his hooded head against the rough bark.

“That dream-catcher is special to you, isn’t it, Eric? Your mother told me that it’s your favorite thing to play with,” said Casey with a warm smile.

“Play with? Shit, this thing was supposed to do something for those goddamn voices. It’s supposed to heal me. Turns out it’s just a bunch of urban voodoo bullshit,” said Eric. He banged his head against the tree and breathed deeply and rapidly during his rant. “I just want them to shut up. Is it too much to ask? Why won’t they let me live in peace? High school is over. They’re all gone! Those stupid jocks are never coming back! Why do they keep talking to me?! Why do they keep calling me every fucking insult in the book?! Why are they laughing at me?!” Eric began pounding the dirt ground like a child having a fit.

The only reason he stopped was because Casey grabbing his hands snapped him out of that nightmarish trance. She looked sternly into his eyes and said, “Listen to me, Eric. That dream-catcher is not going to heal you, you’re right. Then again, neither will forgetting to take your pills or skipping your therapy sessions. You were doing great after you got out of high school. And then somewhere along the way, you…”

With tears in his eyes and snot in his nose, Eric interrupted, “I what? I blew it? Is that what you’re going to tell me? That I fucking blew it?!” He stood up and towered over the seated Casey, who had her hands raised defensively. He pointed harshly at her and ranted, “What do you know about me and what I’ve been through?! Are you some kind of shrink now?! Do you want to pick my brain?! Nobody’s picking my brain tonight! Keep your poisonous food and pills, because I see the world for what it really is: a shit-hole! A putrid…vile…evil…shit-hole! It’s fucking dystopia all over again!”

Casey decided this conversation was going nowhere fast and performed a double-leg takedown on Eric, who thrashed his arms and wailed like a baby. The cop advanced her position to his chest and held his arms straight in a bear hug. No matter how many times Eric yelled, “Let me go!” Casey continued to restrain her target with a firm grasp. Eric’s yells got more frantic and less intelligible, but he eventually gave up and broke down crying.

“It’s too late for me, Officer!” he sobbed. “I’ll never be the same again! I’ll never write poetry like I used to! I’ll never make money on my own! No woman will want to be with me after this! I’m useless! Damn it, I’m useless!” Casey shushed him a few times and the rabid crying defused to a gentle weep.

“You need help, Eric. This is not the way people are supposed to live. You can’t live out here in this forest on your own. How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything other than berries and nuts?” asked Officer Rasmussen in a gentle whisper.

“It’s better than choking down that poison my mom cooks,” said Eric.

Casey got off her target’s chest and sat on her knees in front of him. “You’re right about one thing: I don’t know what you’ve been through. I only know what your mother told me about you. I keep trying to talk to you, but you’re going off on different tangents and not making any sense. This needs to stop, Eric. Please, come with me. Not just for your mother’s sake, but for yours. Is this really how you want to live?”

A monstrous growl echoed across the scene and glowing animal eyes lingered in the background. Casey and Eric watched on in horror as the creature’s fangs came into the light. A thick coat of brown fur encased this savage forest warrior as the drooling wolf descended upon its victims. Casey and Eric slowly made it to their feet and tiptoed backwards to avoid aggravating the beast any further.

The wolf lunged at the pair with the intent to rip flesh and shatter bones. Casey pushed Eric out of the way and felt the wrath of this beast’s teeth sinking into her leg. She bled profusely as she stumbled over in an attempt to reach her weapons belt. The more she struggled, the tighter the wolf’s fangs latched onto her leg. But struggle she did. She clawed into the dirt and dragged her tired body across the ground. She was fingertips away from her belt, but the massive bleeding in her leg caused her to feel lightheaded. The weapons she needed were a blur to her and everything was fading to black.

And then the razor-sharp teeth in her leg released their grip as Eric let out a primal scream and palm struck the wolf in the nose, the most sensitive part of a dog’s body. The wolf ran away whining and moaning, but the bleeding in Casey’s leg created a flood around her body. Eric was pacing back and forth nervously biting his fingernails wondering what to do next. When the answers didn’t come to him, he dropped to his knees and let out yet another primal scream while pounding his forehead with his fists.

Despite the brutal wound, Casey found enough strength to sit up on her butt and contain Eric with another bear hug. With one arm wrapped around her target, she pressed the buttons on her walky-talky and said, “I need an ambulance to come down to Redwood Forest stat! Officer down and suspect Eric Bradley is having a breakdown! Over!”

The cop and the suspect breathed sighs of relief and plopped on their backs when there was a “Roger that!” on the other end of that transmission.

Eric sobbed softly and asked, “What’s going to happen to me now, Officer? Am I going to be locked up in a nut house? Wherever I’m going, I don’t want to be out here anymore. I hate this place! I hate it!”

Casey held Eric’s hand and said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Eric. You’ve endangered a lot of people with your behavior prior to coming to the forest. That’s why your mom called us. But after you saved my ass tonight, I’m going to make sure you get the best treatment you can possibly get. With any luck, you’ll go straight to the psychiatric hospital and you won’t have to do jail time.” She chuckled in a petrified manner and said, “Shit, man, I should have known punching the wolf in the nose would have gotten him off me. That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Eric turned to Casey, smiled, and said, “Now who’s fucked up in the head?”