A Real Woman

The girl’s locker room at Richmond High School was alive with chatter and giggling. These girls talked about everything whether it was the latest rumors, boys, their parents, or whatever. The mass conversation fell into deep silence when Jenny Andrews entered the locker room wearing blond hair extensions, a Papa Roach tank top , a denim skirt, and high heeled sneakers.

As Jenny was getting changed into her workout clothes, the other girls glared their evilest glares at her with their arms folded. She pretended not to pay attention to them, but when she took off her skirt to change into black shorts, her penis was exposed to every one of these girls. Such was the focus of these girls’ wicked stares.

“Jonny? What the hell are you doing here? This is the girl’s locker room, you pervert!” The girl who said that was the tallest, most intimidating, and meanest of the group of girls, Melissa Moore. She was decked out in a white Richmond High T-shirt and neon green shorts. Her muscular legs looked like they could do some damage if she threw a hard enough kick. Her long hair was as black as her soul, and no, she didn’t require extensions.

Jenny sheepishly turned around to face Melissa, but crouched backwards in fear and said, “It’s not Jonny. It’s Jenny.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? You come in here dressed in a skirt and high heels and I should automatically assume you’re a fucking woman. Your dick is as clear as day, buddy. Go change in the boy’s locker room like you’re supposed to!” said Melissa as she pointed at Jenny with her manicured index finger.

Silence overtook the room and anxiety built up in Jenny’s stomach. She gagged and coughed, but that was the only sign of backing down she would give. Melissa marched over, her bare feet slamming hard on the tile floor. “Hey! Are you deaf?!” she yelled before grabbing Jenny by her shirt and slamming her back first against the steel lockers. “I told you to get out of here! You’re a boy! You need to change in the boy’s locker room, asshole!”

Jenny Andrews winced and cowered in Melissa’s tight grip. The transgender student couldn’t even muster any intense energy when she said, “Fuck you, Melissa. You’re a whore.”

The entire girl’s locker room laughed at Jenny’s weak attempt at bravery while Melissa only gave an amused half-smile. “You’re tough, Jonny. You’re tough. I never knew you had the balls to stand up to me. Oh wait, yes, I did, because you’re a guy!”

The Amazonian Melissa Moore powerfully tossed Jenny to the center of the locker room.  While the transsexual was down, every girl started kicking and clawing at her. Bumps, bruises, and cuts were forming all over Jenny’s legs, arms, and ribs. But her biggest signs of pain were her eyes dribbling with tears and her demonic shouts to tell her attackers to stop. Her screams were then being muffled by blood pouring out of her throat in tiny drops.

Jenny Andrews could have very well died in this locker room if it hadn’t been for a cloud of white smoke blasting through and forcing the girls to cough violently. As soon as they wiped their eyes and got most of their oxygen back, they saw their gym teacher, Jessica Sullivan, holding a fire extinguisher with a scrunched up, angry facial expression. “Who’s leading this mob?” she asked in a firm, yet low key tone.

The girls were quick to point at Melissa Moore, who looked less like a giantess and more like a guilty fool covered in white powder. Her facial expression was that of a courtroom defendant who was just given the death penalty. Her shoulders were slouched and her breathing was slower.

Miss Sullivan, with the fire extinguisher still pointed on her target, marched over to Melissa, almost touched faces with her, and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? You and your lackeys could have killed this poor girl. Is that what you want? You want to be a murderer? Tell me, Melissa: who taught you how to hate? It sure as shit wasn’t anybody from this school.”

Melissa struggled to find the words, but said, “I was just trying to get this pervert out of our locker room. Come on, Miss Sullivan. He’s a guy! There’s no telling what he could have done to us!”

Miss Sullivan looked down at Jenny Andrews, who was on her knees sobbing this whole time and nursing her lumpy wounds. “She looks like a real woman to me,” said the gym teacher.

“Are you kidding me? We saw his dick!” said Melissa.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about this poor girl’s genitals? Why, because she’s a transsexual and it’s suddenly okay to talk to them like that? What about you, Melissa? Is it okay if I talk about your genitals? How’s your vagina doing these days? You don’t have any green pus leaking out of it, do you? You might want to see a doctor about that!” said Miss Sullivan.

Melissa hung her head in shame, but Jessica wasn’t done yet. “Here’s what I want you to do. And everyone here needs to listen up as well. I want each and every one of you to get dressed and go to the principal’s office. Let the principal know just how hateful and disgusting each and every one of you are!”

“As opposed to the trans whore over here?” said Melissa while pointing at Jenny, who then stood up and threw a wild punch to her jaw, knocking the bigot to the ground and causing her gums to bleed. The other girls gasped in horror while Jenny looked down on Melissa with fiery eyes. After the transsexual spit a wad of blood on the floor, Melissa said through her own bloody mouth, “See? See what she just did?! Punish her too!”

Miss Sullivan made a flat tire noise and said, “I didn’t see a goddamn thing. Now get up, get dressed, and get your ass to the principal’s office.”

The result didn’t come without the girls whispering about how their punishment was “bullshit” and slamming their locker doors as hard as they could, but get dressed and exit the locker room they did. As the bigoted girls made their way to the principal’s office, it was just Jenny and Miss Sullivan alone together.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything,” said Jenny through quivering lips.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jenny. I was happy to do it for you. If nobody else has your back around here, then I do. I’ve seen the worst of what this high school has to offer and it’s not going to get easier for you. You have to fight for what you believe in. You have to fight for your individuality. Maybe it’s not a good idea to do it through physicality, but if you have to defend yourself, there’s no other way,” said Jessica in a soft and caring voice.

Jenny wiped her tears and blood off of her face and sorrowfully said, “Ever since I came out as a woman, people have been treating me differently. I see their stares. I hear their whispers. But this is the first time I’ve been assaulted since then. Well, the first at this school. My own family won’t back me up on this. They still think I’m a man.”

As the transgender girl cried some more, Miss Sullivan put down the fire extinguisher and gave her a tender hug. With a whispery voice, she said, “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some pain. You’re not a man. You’re the most beautiful woman in this whole school. You’re going to make it through high school and you’re going to be stronger for it. We need more women like you, Jenny, and less like Melissa.”

When their embrace broke, Jenny asked, “Why are you helping me? I know you’re a teacher and that’s your job, but…”

“Yes, I am a teacher,” said Miss Sullivan. “But I also hold a secret I’ve never told anybody before until now. You’ve probably heard the whispers about me personally and though I haven’t said it yet, it is true. I’m a lesbian. And I’m married to the most amazing woman in the world. Some people were cool with that, others weren’t. Quite frankly, I don’t care what people think of me and you shouldn’t either. What matters most is what you and I feel on the inside. A real woman listens to her heart, not her critics.”

Jenny wiped more tears and blood from her face and for the first time in a long time smiled a beautiful white-toothed smile. “Thank you, Miss Sullivan. I needed to hear that.”

“And thank you, Jenny, for not letting those girls take your smile away from you,” said the gym teacher. “Picture perfect, that’s what it is.”

Minnie-Moo

Most people went to places like Bellingham Forest to get away from their daily routines. For druid sorcerer Derrick Mango, the forest WAS his daily routine. He had his own log cabin in the darkest part of the woods where nobody could disturb his introverted microcosm. If they did, those people were met with scorn and violence. Derrick valued his privacy more than anything else in this world. One bright May morning, his privacy would be violated in the most savage way.

The sun shone brightly through the cracks of each individual log that made up Derrick Mango’s cabin. Not one single beam of light was enough to stir him from his slumber, which he could be found wearing little more than bearskin boots, wolf skin pants, and a rabbit skin blanket while sleeping on a bed stuffed with bird feathers. He snore was as quiet and friendly as a lethargic puppy’s.

If a mere sunbeam wasn’t going to wake him up, the loud thud against his cabin wall would. Derrick’s eyes snapped to life as he gazed into the crack that formed as a result of a pole axe strike. At first he was frightened, but then his brows furrowed into anger and he dismissed that first shot by saying, “Goddamn kids!” He threw the blanket off and stood up to confront the invader of his privacy.

And then there was another pole axe strike. And another. And another. Each smashing attack blew a gust of tree bark against the hermit’s body. Now was the perfect time for him to be scared. These weren’t just some damn kids. Whoever was defiling his cabin wanted him dead. But why?

Derrick looked around for a place to retreat, but all four walls were being pounded on while the sounds of animal grunting could be heard from outside. Soon the cracks in the wall turned into full-sized holes and the druid could see what was after him: demonic cows. He wiped his eyes just to make sure his vision wasn’t impeded from the sawdust, which it wasn‘t. There really was an army of cows with pole axes trying to break the walls down.

Chunks of the ceiling were falling down upon the forest warrior, which would have meant the end for him, but was actually his salvation. In one swift movement, he dashed towards the nearly demolished wall, leapt through the nearest ceiling hole, and scaled a tree that happened to be right next the cabin. Derrick climbed with such speed and grace that he made it to the top like the super athlete he was. It was a good thing he was so up high since his cabin collapsed after a few more blows from the demon cows.

“What do you freaks want from me?!” yelled Derrick from his treetop nest.

The cow warriors surrounded the thick tree and the leader of the pack finally gave him the answers he needed. “We know she’s here. She’s the one the Bellingham villagers refer to as Minnie-Moo. Such a disgustingly cute name for a disgusting creature.” The sound of a gentle meow caught everyone’s attention and there was the fluffy black and white cat Minnie-Moo curled up in the tree with Derrick. “That would be her! Throw her down here and I’ll spare your life!”

Minnie cried and pleased with Derrick not to surrender, the latter of the two already getting sick of all the bullshit surrounding his invasion of privacy. All he wanted was to be left alone and he had his chance right then and there as he glared at the frightened fluff ball. But instead, the loner needed more answers. “What did this little feline do to you and your clan of circus freaks?”

“She drank from the pool of our most sacred milk. We use that pool for holy rituals and Minnie violated those terms when she nearly lapped it all up. Gluttony is one of the worst sins this world has to offer and she shall be punished for it. Throw her down right this instant! No more questions!” shouted the leader.

Except Derrick couldn’t throw her down even if he wanted to; Minnie was already leaping from treetop to treetop. Some of the bovine warriors charged after her while others stayed behind and started rocking Derrick’s tree back and forth in an attempt to bring him down hard.

The normally nimble hermit tried to stand up and walk across the branch, but the trembling force of each shake caused him to lose his balance and land on his balls. Derrick Mango let out a shrill of pain while desperately clutching his last means of having children. He would have spilled off to the side and be at the mercy of these ridiculous, but fierce fighters.

Emphasis on would. Minnie was dashing across the treetops in circles and flew right into Derrick’s face with her claws stretched out. The agony of having cat blades in his cheeks caused the druid to temporarily ignore his ball pain and spring to a standing position in an attempt to shake off the rogue cat.

The previous shaking from the cow clerics loosened the tree so much that when Derrick danced around, it fell over and he and Minnie rolled down the hill together at a faster speed than the heavy cows could keep up with on their stubby legs. The screaming in pain and the firestorm of curse words would have been more audible if they weren’t vibrating off of Minnie’s stomach. The blasphemous animal dug deeper into Derrick’s face as a means of holding on tightly for this bumpy ride.

The crash and burn would eventually happen at the bottom of the hill, where they landed hard in a rapid river that began carrying them away underneath the water. Only at the threat of drowning would Minnie let go of Derrick’s face and doggie-paddle toward the surface.

The bloody wounds in the pissed off druid’s visage and his already aching testicles only pissed him off even further. Just when the bovines had reached the bottom of the hill looking for their prey, Derrick pulled Minnie underneath the water. Little did they know the bovines lost their trail and they were ready to give up.

Except Derrick wasn’t pulling Minnie underneath for her safety. He did it because he wanted to scream obscenities at her for putting him in this position in the first place. The bubbles in his lungs muffled most of what he was saying, but it was basically along the lines of this whole mess being Minnie’s fault because she led these “freaks” to his hideout and almost got the both of them killed.

He could have gone on forever ranting and raving while not caring if he or Minnie drowned. But luckily, they didn’t have to worry about being underwater indefinitely since the river dropped them off at a shallow part where Derrick could be on his knees and Minnie could swim to the surface. Both survivors of the bovine rebellion coughed, hacked, and wheezed until every last drop of water was out of their noses and throats.

By the time Derrick was done coughing, his testicle pain flared up again and he was screaming while banging the shallow ground with his fists. Meanwhile, Minnie was curled up at the edge of the river like she wasn’t in danger of dying just now. Typical cat behavior: always ignoring humans in their time of need.

Derrick stood up in the raging river and pressed his thighs together while basically tiptoeing his way to where Minnie was laying. His balls were almost ruptured, his face was still bleeding, and he was in a “don’t fuck with me” mood. Hell, his rage alone would have gotten him a victory over that entire squadron of cow people. But the only cow-like creature he had his flaring eyes on at the moment was Minnie.

“You sick little bitch!” shouted Derrick Mango as he inched closer to the shivering cat. “You nearly got my ass killed. You led those demons to my cabin all because of some stupid milk fiasco. Well, it’s a good thing all that milk made you fat, because I want some chow and you’re the only living thing here with meat on your bones!”

Derrick raised his hands in the air monster-style before his ball pain acted up again and he tumbled over to the side of the wet cat. He cried and bitched and moaned while holding his poor aching groin. “Why, sweet god, why?! What did I do to deserve this! Why me?! Why not somebody else?! I didn’t do no harm to anyone!”

Minnie stood up from her sleeping position and licked the salty river off of Derrick’s nose, which was pretty much the only part of his face that wasn’t soaking in blood. The druid said, “Oh come on! Stop making it so hard to be pissed off!” Minnie purred and licked him some more. “I’m serious!” More purrs, more licks. “Don’t make me go all lovey-dovey for you!” Even more purrs, even more licks.

“Ah, who am I kidding. You saved my life just by clawing my fucking face. I guess that squares things between us. That, and you are kind of cute. Cuter than those stupid humans in the village.” Derrick proved his affections by scratching Minnie behind the ears.

“Minnie-Moo, are you alright?!” That cutesy voice belonged to a village girl no older than seven years. She was dressed up like a doll with her thick white dress and wool boots. As soon as she saw Minnie, the cat ran up to the girl and jumped into affectionate, loving arms. The girl looked down at the wounded Derrick and said, “Thank you for saving my kitty!”

“Oh, no problem. If you wanted to pay me back, you could bring me a healer. I’m kind of in a lot of pain right now,” said Derrick.

“Okay!” said the village girl as she turned around and skipped away with Minnie-Moo in her arms.

Derrick rolled over and slowly removed his hands from his aching balls before saying to himself, “Saved by the fucking humans….damn it! Oh well.”

Flipped Off

A massive red pickup truck pulled in slowly in front of the rickety three-tier house on top of Claymore Hill. On the outside the house looked like it was used every Halloween to scare the shit out of little kids. Cobwebs, broken windows, loose doors, shoddy construction, basically this place looked like a nightmare to live in.

When Ivan Savage and his heavyset buddy Mickey Ryder got out of the truck dressed in blue jeans, stained white T-shirts, and black combat boots, that could have only meant one thing: it was time to go to work on this puppy.

Ivan ran his gloved hand through his messy brown hair and said, “This feels wrong. This feels very wrong.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mickey.

“What do you think I mean? Didn’t you hear on the news who this house used to belong to? Angelo Crockett. Not just any Angelo Crockett, but the same guy who used this house for a goddamn rape dungeon. He kept anywhere between twenty and thirty underage girls here. If I start talking about what he did to them, I’m going to vomit. We should just get back in the truck and get out of here.”

Mickey made a flat tire noise and said, “Dude, what did you expect? You bought this house sight unseen at a flea market. A flea market, for shit’s sake. Hell, there are probably a bunch of fleas living in there right now. But you know what? This is the kind of work we get paid to do. As flip men, we have certain obligations and though they may seem cruel and unusual, they do include flipping houses and getting them ready to be sold at a high price.”

“Hey, I have no illusions about what I do for a living. It’s just that this is the most disgusting assignment I’ve ever had to do.”

“You think I feel any better about it, Ivan? You think I condone what that bastard did to those kids? That’s why we owe it to those young girls to clean this place up. Trust me, buddy, by the time we’re finished, Angelo Crockett’s name will be long forgotten about. Let’s get inside and see what we’ve got to work with.”

Mickey waddled his fat ass up the stairs and into the house while Ivan shook his head and reluctantly trailed him inside. The outside and the urban legend surrounding this house was vomit-inducing enough. But the inside was a disaster. The floors were covered with blood, puke, and feces. The walls were covered in even more sickening bodily fluids. The kitchen was so caked in urine and dirt that eating anything from there would be certain death. The bathroom reeked so badly that stepping one foot could mean a gut-busting assault on the nose. The basement? Well, that was easily the most sickening part of the house since it was everything the above two tiers was multiplied by ten.

Despite the horrific condition of this lonely house, the stench of it all was something Ivan and Mickey were both used to. They were flip men after all and remodeled houses as bad as this all the time. In fact, Mickey was already on the attack when it came to his plans to fix this house up.

“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking. The carpets and the linoleum both have to be ripped up from the ground. There’s no saving them. In their place will be wooden floors. We’ll have wooden floors all around the upper two tiers and even the staircase will be like that too. We’re also going to use wood paneling for the walls, which are going to be painted afterwards, probably in the neighborhood of greenish blue. The bathroom will be a different story; it’s going to have square tiles both on the floor and on the walls. The appliances will all have to go from the sinks to the oven to the refrigerator to the toilets to the tubs. We’re going to buy brand new appliances and put them in their respective places. The cupboards are also going to have to be replaced with new wood. And finally, those light fixtures above us are going to have to be replaced with ceiling fans. You think we can do all of this, Ivan?”

Ivan gave his friend an “Are you kidding me?” look and said, “That’s all fine and good, but did you forget that this place used to be a goddamn rape dungeon for small children?!”

If either flip man needed a reminder of that, all they had to do was look on the kitchen floor next to the burned out stove. Ivan knelt down and picked up what appeared to be a porn magazine. He dusted off the cover and gagged when he saw what the book was titled: “Sexy Teenagers Weekly”.

“I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick!” Ivan kept saying to himself as he dropped the magazine, ran out the front door, and retched all over the lawn. He shook hard as he tasted his McDonald’s breakfast sandwich from earlier that day. His decade-long experience of being a flip man didn’t prepare him for this.

“I’m going to go ahead and survey the basement. You can feel free to join me once you’re done throwing up,” yelled Mickey from the inside. Ivan was huffing and puffing while struggling to make it to his feet. As soon as he wiped the vomit from his mouth, he heard his construction buddy let out a blood-curdling scream followed by the sounds of fire and shredding.

Ivan slowly turned his head around and said, “Oh dear lord, no…Mickey!” He bolted inside and visited all of the rooms in the house in search of his friend. No sign of him. The one place he hadn’t looked was the basement aka Satan’s port-a-potty. Ivan swallowed a glob of barf-flavored saliva and shakily ventured down the stairs into the dark basement.

He struggled to find a light switch, but eventually found one at the bottom of the world’s longest stairs. He flipped it on and saw the ashen and shredded remains of what was once his best friend Mickey Ryder. “What the fuck?!” yelled Ivan as he rushed to the middle of the dingy basement to check on his friend. Once on his knees, tears formed in Ivan Savage’s eyes.

His sadness would be blended with fear when he heard the whispers of small children all around him. There they were: the ones responsible for the soul-stealing death of Mickey Ryder. They were the ashen souls of the thirty raped girls, who were forming a large circle around Ivan by holding hands and dancing around him.

“Please!” begged Ivan. “Please let me out of here! I never wanted to be here in the first place! I don’t even want to be a flip man anymore!”

In demonic, unified voices, the ghosts of the girls said, “Your friend had to pay the price! He wanted to use our deaths as a way to make money! He wanted to exploit us just like Master Angelo did!”

Disturbed by the fact that these girls just called their rapist “Master Angelo”, more tears formed in Ivan’s eyes when he said, “Listen…that man will never hurt you or anyone else again. He’s behind bars and he’ll never get out. He’s probably being stabbed to death in the showers right now.”

The ghosts said, “As well he should be! But that doesn’t solve the problem of you, my friend. You came here for the same reason as that giant sack of protoplasm over there. You wanted to exploit us for some easy cash! We’re not going to let you nor anyone else get away with that!”

“Please! You have to believe me! I wanted no part of this! I’ll do whatever you girls want! Anything you want!”

“…Anything?”

“Anything you want! Name it and it’s yours!”

The ghosts stroked their chins in mock contemplation before dancing around in a circle again and closing in on Ivan, who was curled in a little ball waiting to be murdered. But then the girls picked him up off the ground and made their conditions known. “You want to live, money man? Then you set us free right now. You will not flip this house. You will instead burn it to the ground. No one shall make money off of us again! Nobody! Do you understand?!”

“I…I…I…” Ivan swallowed hard. “I have a gas can and some matches in my truck. As soon as you girls let me go, I’m burning this place to the ground. Just like we promised.”

The next time the girls danced, it was in a celebratory ballet style. They hugged each other and spun around in happiness while Ivan ran past them, up the stairs, and out to his truck to do what he promised.

He scrambled in the back of the pickup truck for that gasoline. He panicked when he almost didn’t find it, but there it was buried underneath the lumber. The matches he got from the glove box. Ivan took a few deep breaths and steadied his nerves before slowly approaching this former rape dungeon to do what he wanted to do all along. He splashed some gasoline on the walls, lit a match, and watched the fire consume the entire house.

Before the fire could get too out of hand, Ivan hopped in the truck and drove away in a hurry, easily doing 80 miles per hour. Sooner or later, someone would call the fire department and the rape dungeon would be nothing more than cooling ashes. Knowing it was all over gave Ivan a sense of relief, therefore he slowed down his driving speed and breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed to do at that point was come up with a little white lie to tell his superiors when they ask him about what happened to both the house and Mickey Ryder.

"All Lovers Are Deranged" by David Gilmour

In the late 90’s, there were two things I believed to be true: love wasn’t worth fighting for and Pink Floyd was the greatest band in the world. I needed a theme song that combined these two staunch beliefs and that song was “All Lovers Are Deranged” by David Gilmour, the guitarist and co-vocalist for Pink Floyd.

The Pink Floyd fandom was easy for me, especially after they published a song called “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2” (we don’t need no education). I hated going to middle school in the late 90’s, so Pink Floyd earned a lot of brownie points with me.

The part about resisting romantic love was also easy for me back then because I had a father who owed alimony and child support to multiple ex-wives. Okay, so there aren’t many 11 to 13-year-olds who have to pay alimony, but the idea of it happening one day scared me to death.

This was also during a time when I watched the movie Happy Gilmore (no relation to David) and I learned how the IRS punishes people who don’t pay their taxes: by taking their stuff. I was very protective of my property (especially my Legos and videogames), so sharing them with a girl was out of the question.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by these girls in middle school, though. I took a special liking to women who walked around in shorts and sandals. I didn’t know why at the time, I just liked that about a woman. I would later find out by a special invention called the internet that I had a foot fetish. All questions were answered.

But no matter how many times the girls in my school dressed in shorts and sandals, I turned down every one of them who asked me on a date. Again, I was very protective of my personal things. Add to this the idea of being controlled by someone and the paranoia was even stronger.

I didn’t learn how to fall in love until I turned 15 years old. I went away for a summer retreat in Bellingham and they held dances. I showed up looking for something to drink and from out of nowhere, this pretty girl comes up to me and asks for a dance to a slow song. Also from out of nowhere, I said yes to her. I enjoyed being close with this woman in an intimate way even if it was only for a few minutes. If I can get a little graphic for a moment, there was even a time where…you know…it moved. Ahem!

So now that I know how to fall in love with women, I also know how much it hurts when I know I can’t have the one I fall in love with. I had so many crushes in high school and college that I wanted to duplicate that intimate feeling with. At the time, I thought rejection hurt worse than never trying. I still believe that to this day.

That’s why I consider myself lucky that I was able to have a relationship with a woman named Brianna and feel good about having it. We held hands, hugged, and I even got my first kiss from her. Yes, it took me a long time to get my first kiss, but I got it, by god. That milestone felt good. What didn’t feel good was never seeing her again after an awkward date in which she got in a political argument with my liberal mother. Still, given the awkwardness, I enjoyed every minute I got to be with Brianna even if it was only for a few months.

It’s not the late 90’s anymore and I still have David Gilmour’s music burned to my computer. Are all lovers deranged? It takes a certain craziness to think that love conquers all. Then again, who ever said I was sane? I’m the same guy who believes Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is a cute show and the real world is faker than professional wrestling. Would I do it all again in a heartbeat? Absolutely. Broken hearts can be mended, but lonely ones can’t.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Marriage is a lot like a deck of cards: in the beginning, all you need is two hearts and two diamonds, but in the end, you wish you had a club or a spade.”

-Jerry “The King” Lawler-

The Krause Sisters (Bailey and Devon)

Sexism has always been an ugly part of today’s world whether it’s women being stoned to death in the Middle East or the existence of rape insurance here in America. The men who perpetuate this kind of hatred and bigotry need a swift kick in the testicles. That’s where The Krause Sisters come into play. As of today, I have no idea how these two young women will be used in one of my stories, but rest assured they won’t be the ones who need health insurance at the end of an encounter. In order to survive a battle with these two lethal ladies, you can’t just be a good fighter. You can’t even have an army by your side. You have to be part of an army of motherfucking assassins and murderers. Actually, that might not help you either, you’d still get your ass kicked. They know every martial art in the book, they’ve used every weapon ever invented, and they’re so hot that men wouldn’t be able to concentrate long enough to finish a fight with them. I know, I know, these two women sound like Mary-Sues already. They’re so perfect that nobody can stop them and everybody around them is going to die. If I absolutely have to make these women sound indestructible, it’ll be in legend only. The Sisters Brothers were said to have been the most lethal pair in all of western fiction, but they got their comeuppance by the story’s end. Perhaps the same fate could take over The Krause Sisters. Maybe in some way, Bailey and Devon could be separated from each other. We know they kick ass together, let’s see how they do on their own. Let’s see how they do against a 30-foot tall giant. Or the devil himself. Or god himself. Or maybe all three of these beings at once. Surely, there has to be some kind of limit when using The Krause Sisters. The limit may not be readily available at the very beginning of the story, but it’ll be there eventually. Maybe Bailey will get killed and Devon will have the face the world alone without a sister, or vice versa. The possibilities are as endless as the writer’s imagination. If you need a way to derail the momentum of two badass sisters, you’ll find one. Consider this a lesson in keeping your characters from becoming too perfect. I don’t care how many bombs Bailey and Devon drop or how many people they kill: if they’re too perfect, the story will be extremely boring and predictable. I won’t do that to my own characters. Bailey and Devon are in good hands, and no, those hands aren’t being used to fondle their bodies. For your information, I like my own body exactly the way it is: all in one piece.

　

***FACE BOOK MEME OF THE DAY***

Porn gives young people an unrealistic idea of how quickly a plumber will come to your house.

Barbie and Ken

When I was a kid growing up in Chehalis, Washington, commercials would constantly come up on TV for Barbie products and my mom would jokingly suggest that she should buy them for me. You know what my answer was? “Nooooooooo!!” Now that I’m an adult, it seems as though I’m not the only one who thinks this way. Somewhere along the leaden path, being called a Barbie or Ken doll became an insult. It’s constantly used as a slur against WWE Divas and any other female wrestler who happens to be skinny and pretty. Ed Schultz loves to refer to Sarah Palin as “Caribou Barbie” whenever she comes up in conversation. On the flip side, Erick Erickson once called Wendy Davis “Abortion Barbie”. So basically, this insult can work with anybody as long as they have something to attach the slur to, such as a profession, a hobby, or a belief. I don’t want you guys to think I’m actually using these insults on people, but somewhere along the way, some nut job out there could refer to Danica Patrick as “NASCAR Barbie”. Somebody could also put it out there that Bill O’Reilly is “Conservative Ken”. And yet another example could be that Mary Kay Letourneau is somehow referred to as “Statutory Rape Barbie”. I keep having to ask myself where all of these Barbie and Ken references come from. What does being a Barbie/Ken doll imply about that person? That they’re perfect in every way? That they’re plastic and fake? That they’re shallow? Or maybe there’s this stigma going around about how Barbie dolls are anatomically incorrect and that if somebody actually looked like one, they’d be fucking dead. Well, as far as I know, Danica Patrick can still walk around without breaking her ankles, so there’s no way in hell she could be “NASCAR Barbie”. You’re probably asking yourself what all this talk about girl toys has to do with literature. Well, the same thing could be applied to popular books. For example, someone could call Bella Swan “Vampire Barbie”, which would most likely be attributed to her Mary-Sue qualities. So is that what it takes for someone to be a Barbie doll? Mary-Sue attributes? I’d have to say so. If that’s the case, then the outside world is just one big doll house. But maybe if I actually ventured outside my room and into the real world to meet some of these people, it’ll be even less likely that a giant pink convertible will pick me up for a trip to the Silverdale Shopping Mall. People are Barbie and Ken dolls until you actually get to know who they are, all their faults, all their pains, and all their love. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to be a writer: because we have to work so diligently to acquaint the reader with our characters so that they don’t become Barbie and Ken dolls.

　

***BUMPER STICKER OF THE DAY***

“Normal people scare me, but not as much as I scare them.”