Tim Kennedy: His One Star Didn't Come from the Army; It Came from Dave Meltzer

 

I Dare You to Move!

 

The black text is from the Switchfoot song "Dare You to Move". It's supposed to be inspirational, now it looks creepy as fuck considering who's in the picture and what he's holding. Haha!

Clown Grinder

Does this cheeseburger taste funny to you?

It’s ground-up clowns, the whole circus crew

There aren’t enough bottles of Pepto Bismol

To wash down the taste of Bozo’s big balls

There’s a blood-soaked war in your intestines

Bacteria and viruses with automatic weapons

Vomit your carcass inside the fuck out

Or they can exit through the Hershey Highway route

Hellfire fever immolating your soul

Acid trip dreams about your blistered asshole

Stay away from your bottle of Advil

Lest you want to drop a load heavier than an anvil

Get on the phone with the CDC

Clowns’ Decaying Corpses, eat lean beef

I hope someone sends you a Get Well card

“May your anal casualties again become hard”

Who’s in charge of the menu today?

They’ve got a billion in lawsuits to finally pay

Now you’ve got your check, so what’s for dinner?

The mind is strong, but food addiction is the winner

Get the clown grinder ready for another serving

Diarrhea Armageddon is never too unnerving

A weight loss strategy for the new age

In history books, you’re thin enough to be a page

"Starlight" by Hannah Lee Kidder

BOOK TITLE: Starlight

AUTHOR: Hannah Lee Kidder

YEAR: 2020

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Horror Short Stories

GRADE: B

Hannah Lee Kidder’s credentials as a writing coach are very well-earned as evidenced by this collection of shorts. From the beginning, you as the reader will be treated to descriptive writing that captures every aspect of the scene without bogging down the pace. In fact, the pace moves along quite nicely, like a smooth sleigh ride through the snow. The main characters are easy to root for due to their three-dimensional personalities and the development they go through in spite of the short word count of their respective stories. The subject matter is as dark as the horror genre suggests, but Kidder handles it in a sensitive enough way that it doesn’t come off as a nonstop trigger fest. If anybody is qualified for the job of bringing the audience a delightful read, it’s Hannah Lee Kidder.

Obviously, the longer stories of this collection are the ones that shine the most (which sounds like a Captain Obvious statement if I’ve ever heard one). My personal favorites are The Swamp Witch, Margrove, and Passing Ghosts. Longer stories mean that we get more time to see how awesome and fun these protagonists really are (another Captain Obvious statement). The witch in The Swamp Witch is easily the most colorful character in the book due to her crotchety personality meshing well with her good intentions. Margrove has a creative plot that involves trickery masquerading as magic and sorcery for unsuspecting marks. Passing Ghosts is just plain sweet since the ghost haunting the house is literally the only source of comfort that a little boy needs in an emotionally abusive home.

But just because I have favorites, doesn’t mean the book is without flaws. Flawed characters are always a joy to read about. Flawed stories? Not so much. There are shorter ones in this book that feel incomplete because of how abruptly they end and how confusing the context really is. Sliced is a shining example of this. Okay, so a dude has a bloody mouth and is stalking a girl on the street. Then what? Same thing with Contained: the protagonist watches a vent for a ragged man or a demon or whatever. Then what? There are a few stories in this book where you’ll be asking, “Then what?” a lot. I get that flash fiction isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. It certainly misses with me sometimes. But even then, I want to feel satisfied by the story’s conclusion and I don’t even know what the conclusion means.

The book’s flaws are incredibly minor, which is why I’m giving it a B and not anything lower. I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that the longer stories which have room to breathe overshadow the incomplete ones. This collection is very much worth your time, especially around Halloween season when all the ghoulish stories hit differently. The page count is less than a hundred, so you’ve literally got nothing to lose and everything to gain. You’ve got a master class in descriptive writing. You’ve got character development in such a short time span. You’ve got all these lessons you can learn from someone who is a certified writing coach. By all means, pick up a copy today and prepare to be entertained and educated at the same time! You won’t regret a thing!

Captain Brock

VERSE 1

He’s never had a cigarette a day in his life

But he smoked a whole football team in just one night

He’s the Captain of the Cougars, the team and the ladies

And every cheerleader wants to be his only sugar baby

Every freshman is trapped in their own school locker

He put them there and tape gagged the shit-talkers

He’s got an A in everything without lifting a finger

When it’s baseball or babes, he’s a home run swinger

CHORUS 1

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

He’s the King of the Straights, the King of the Cis

But if he’s the King, then who’s the Queen?

Homecoming, no-homo is what he means

VERSE 2

He’s got bullycide and beef on his inflated resume

The boss man looked at him and said, “No way!”

So he sued the company for everything they’re worth

Wiped their NASDAQ symbol right off the earth

What’s next for Brock: President or Dictator?

He could stuff the lockers full of more freshman haters

Except they’re not called lockers after school

They’re called prison cells under the iron rule

CHORUS 1

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

He’s the King of the Straights, the King of the Cis

But if he’s the King, then who’s the Queen?

Homecoming, no-homo is what he means

VERSE 3

And then the day came where karma fucked him over

His cancer just ensured that he never saw October

They buried his ass on Halloween night

All the beardos and weirdoes breathed a huge sigh

They can disco dance with the werewolves and vamps

At a Rammstein concert with ball gags and loud amps

The harvest moon never looked so beautiful

Keep the good memories, they’re forever reusable

CHORUS 2

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

But you’d be forgiven if you forgot about his sins

Are you coping with trauma or was he just mediocre?

It’s a little bit of both, aren’t you glad this shit is over?

Cookie-cutter muscle-heads may write our history

But they don’t have a future with you or me

They can’t blame it all on the myth of Cancel Culture

They can blame themselves for being greedy vultures

Autumn Energy

VERSE 1

Caffeine for Halloween! Trick or fucking treat

Taurine and Baby Ruth taste so fucking sweet

Stay up all night giving everyone a big scare

Too many screams and tears? I don’t even care

Put on my mask and fill your pants full of crap

Urine and semen soaking up your entire lap

Blood-soaked neighborhood, I feel so good

Broke the zipper on my jumpsuit with oak wood

VERSE 2

Living for Thanksgiving! My sanity is slipping

Roasted turkey is for chewing and ripping

Face full of brown gravy and mashed potatoes

Wear it like a mask, I’m so fucking unstable

I’ll sleep when I’m dead from a heart attack

And my intestines slide out of my ass crack

What a way to go until the next November

My psychotic smile is all you’ll remember

VERSE 3

Sickness for Christmas! Don’t be so listless

I’ve got a naughty list for all of you bitches

Wrap up everything in sparkling paper

From the severed head to the culprit saber

October and December are one in the same

Covered in blood, sweat, and dirty shame

Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight

We’re gathered here today to get it right

BRIDGE

New Years Day is on its merry way

Broken resolutions are the price you pay

Valentine’s gives you a reason to whine

About the lost love and lack of sunshine

St. Patrick’s is just a reason to get drunk

Vomit on yourself like the spray of a skunk

Fourth of July is nothing but a damn lie

Annoying fireworks blasting in the sky

VERSE 4

Why wait until the fall to enjoy it all?

If anyone wants to argue, let them brawl

Take them out with a chainsaw slash

Leave them on the curb with the trash

Or you can carve them like a turkey

Chew them up until your chest’s hurting

Wrap them like a gift for the undertaker

See you next autumn, you dip shit haters!

The Land of Milk and Medication

VERSE 1

Take me by the hand to dreamland

Tell me a story of fantastic glory

Everything is ours for twelve hours

The recesses of my mind are all mine

Give me a reason to greet the season

Give me a tale I can write without fail

I do it for a living, it’s all I am giving

Buy from the hovel of paperback novels

CHORUS

The land of milk and medication

Is where I do my best meditation

From reality I take a vacation

To a brand new mystical destination

VERSE 2

Milk and honey for my cinnamon bunny

Milk and Xanax for my creative annex

Milk and cereal for the morning ethereal

Milk and fudge to give my face a smudge

Every day is Christmas, night is Halloween

Thanksgiving is somewhere in between

No Valentines for the girl I shall pine

No firecrackers from patriotic attackers

CHORUS

The land of milk and medication

Is where I do my best meditation

From reality I take a vacation

To a brand new mystical destination

BRIDGE

When the sun is kissing, something is missing

Is anybody watching? Is anybody listening?

Where will I get today’s creative fuel?

Must keep the mind sharp, it’s my only tool

EXTENDED CHORUS

The land of milk and medication

Is where I do my best meditation

From reality I take a vacation

To a brand new mystical destination

A world of wonder and musical thunder

Realm of magic born from something tragic

Imagination is my favorite medication

Milk and pills still give me the chills

Spooky Scary Writing Tag: Beautiful Monster

***SPOOKY SCARY WRITING TAG: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

This is a tag stolen from Jenna Moreci, which was in turn stolen from Emma Fink, both of which are author-tubers. Because Halloween is upon us, it’s only right that I answer these questions about Beautiful Monster with creature themes attached to each question. And just for the sake of keeping things updated, I will not be referring to the first draft version of Beautiful Monster that’s already online. To put it as nicely as I possibly can, the first draft of my baby is a drive-by abortion. Windham comes off as a whiny emo teenager, Tarja is manipulative as hell, and the evil characters have no reason for being evil. I have a much better version of Beautiful Monster all planned out and I will be referring to that as well as Savage Beatings, the prequel exclusive to the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology. So…here goes nothing!

1. Ghost: Have you ever originally put a character/scene/theme in the book and then later taken it out?

I’ll eventually have to do that with the mushroom scene in the original. After some deliberation with the lovely Marie Krepps, it turns out people who eat psychedelic mushrooms don’t act anywhere near as crazy as Windham did. To put it as gently as I can, Windham was a fucking fruitcake with the way he flapped his arms, laughed like a maniac, and danced around like a ballerina, all while hallucinating. This time around, he’ll have to resort to medicinal leaves designed to relax his mind. Maybe he’ll have a conversation with Mageta the lion god, but he definitely won’t turn into a basket case.

2. Bat: Most misunderstood character in your WIP?

I’d have to go with Windham Xavier. Even though he was raised in a liberal environment where emotions are openly celebrated, he keeps a lot of his troubles on the inside. He’ll keep even more to himself after he eventually flees from Shelly’s castle. Bringing up torturous memories is a death sentence for anybody with PTSD, especially if that mental condition was caused by being repeatedly raped for a week straight. I’ve even flirted with the idea of giving Windham Stockholm Syndrome once I write out the third draft, but nothing is set in stone yet.

3. Jack-O-Lantern: What’s your most common source of inspiration to write?

For Beautiful Monster specifically, I have three different sources of inspiration. The first is an episode of the 1990’s horror TV show Millennium entitled “A Room with No View”. That episode explores the idea of beautiful women kidnapping men and seducing them into danger. That woman was the demonic shape-shifter Lucy Butler and my character Shelly Atwood is basically a bootleg of her. As for the title of my story, that came from an Otherwise song called “Beautiful Monster”, which talks about being in an abusive relationship and not having the courage to leave. The third source of inspiration came to me during a Pop Evil concert back in February of 2018. Black Map opened for them and during their set, a cute stocky black woman tried dancing with me and I was too nervous to engage her. I eventually walked away from her when she shoved another concertgoer with her elbow. Needless to say, she embarrassed the shit out of me and I was angry about it for the next two days. Three sources of inspiration for one novel. There you have it!

4. Zombie: Preferred form of writerly fuel? Coffee, tea, etc.

Since I can’t have caffeine due to my schizophrenia and coffee tastes like shit, I’m going with Well-Rested Herbal Tea from Trader Joe’s. I like my tea ice cold and unsweetened. Plus, this particular brand of tea is peppermint-flavored. I can’t say I’ve ever fallen asleep because of drinking this tea, but I like it nonetheless. It’s satisfying to drink and it’s good for me.

5. Vampire: Cheesiest trope that made it into your novel?

The romance between Windham and Tarja would qualify, although in the third draft, they’re going to take things slowly. Windham was just raped for a whole week, so romance is not on his list of top priorities. He also doesn’t want to be touched by anybody. This time around, I’m going to have Tarja respect his boundaries instead of being nosy and manipulative. They can bond over other things aside from sexual attraction. They both love animals. They both love art. They’re both politically liberal. They both want to retire from Shadow Asylum someday. And best of all, they both are good enough fighters to have each other’s backs during the worst of times.

6. Spider: What’s a character in your WIP that’s fine from afar, but you would NOT want to interact with if they ever got close?

This one’s a no-brainer: Shelly Atwood. She constantly looks like sex on a stick and that’s part of the reason she’s so successful at luring slaves into captivity. But make no mistake about it: she’s a businesswoman and a politician above all else. She doesn’t love you. She wants to make money off of you and she does that by selling you to horny clients. Sex slavery is her queendom’s national product. Some countries have tourism. Others have crops. She has fuckery.

7. Frankenstein’s Monster: Ever combined two characters into one/split one character into two?

The closest example I can come up with is the mercenary twin brothers Christian and Kody Savage. Aside from their facial tattoos, there’s not a whole lot of distinction between them. They’re both silent. They’re both brutal in combat. They drool and groan like wild animals. Basically, they’re not the kind of people you want to fuck with. In fact, if they do come up to you, run as fast as you fucking can!

8. Skeleton: Best tips for adding in character baggage without info-dumping?

Although I’m not an expert in this particular topic, what I like to do is use flashbacks. The original version of Beautiful Monster utilizes this technique for the first ten chapters as the story bounces between Windham’s captivity and him traveling with Tarja back to Shadow Asylum headquarters. I’m not so sure I can get away with that in the new version of the story, but for what it’s worth, I’d do it if the opportunity presented itself again.

9. Cat: What’s a polarizing writing/bookish opinion that you have?

Head-hopping is perfectly acceptable. I know it’s considered a literary sin, but if movies and TV shows can get away with it, authors should too. I didn’t hear any complaints during that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine and Keith Hernandez were having inner thoughts together after their date. In fact, the two of them kiss and Elaine thinks, “Who does this guy think he is?” and Keith thinks, “I’m Keith Hernandez.” Then again, Seinfeld might not be the best example due to its status as a sitcom. I know Carl Hiaasen head-hops and he’s one of my strongest influences.

10. Demon: Most frequent writing distraction?

Sleepiness brought on by a combination of mental illness, being overweight, and having sleep apnea. When I’m feeling too sleepy, I can’t concentrate and therefore will put out a shitty product. You guys deserve better than a shitty product despite the fact that all first drafts are shitty by their very nature. Imagine if I wrote Beautiful Monster with a constantly tired mind. It would go from being a drive-by abortion to a…uh…what’s worse than a drive-by abortion? Anybody? Help me out here.

That’s all I’ve got for you today. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Something about the way that she makes me hate myself. I could run away, but I don’t want no one else. Something about the way that she tears me up inside. Is it wrong that I love it when I know she’ll bleed me dry? So say what you want. It’s already done. It’s Russian Roulette and love is the gun. You don’t know her, you don’t know her like I do. Looking like an angel so divine, but you can see the devil in those eyes. She’s a monster by my side, baby. She’s taking me six feet down tonight, ‘cause dancing with the devil gets me high. She’s a monster. My beautiful monster. I don’t want to be saved.”

-Otherwise singing “Beautiful Monster”-

Chicken of the Night

Mikris Nagata crouched in the bushes outside of KFC and peered through the windows with cobra venom in his pupils. His brows furrowed and his muscles tensed with every chicken wing the patrons stuffed in their jowly mouths. Even through double pane glass, he could hear their lips smacking and their tongues clicking off of their palettes. Obese men and women with their costume-dressed children devouring members of Mikris’s own brethren. The sight made the contents of his own stomach swirl around like toilet water. Why subject this massacre to small children? Wouldn’t the pillow cases full of Butterfingers and Reese’s Pieces have been enough? This wasn’t a fast food establishment; it was a graveyard for the overweight.

Every night Mikris hid out in front of this restaurant, waiting for the perfect time to strike. So many people gathered in one place on Halloween night: the opportunity was handled to the chicken samurai on a silver platter. The chairman of the Dread City Rifle and Revolver Club Steve Coleman was there licking the grease off of his sausage fingers while barely fitting into his booth. The manager of this establishment Bill Shane was behind the counter dishing out members of Mikris’s race at a chippy’s price. So much gnashing on dead chickens. So much sadistic enjoyment. So many large bellies. Mikris’s mind raced at a million miles per hour. He had to strike now or this would be another missed opportunity to avenge his people!

The chicken warrior stood up and unsheathed his double katanas, scraping the blades against each other while his beak clamped down in fury. With one shrill war cry squawk, Mirkis bolted towards the restaurant and crashed through the glass wall shoulder first, earning screams from fat little kids and gasps from their monstrous parents. Shards of glass nicked the parents’ skins, but still they stood in front of their little ones as the KFC clientele backed away at the sight of Mirkis swinging his blades and squawking like hell.

“I don’t go to your hospitals and devour your infants,” whispered Mirkis while accusingly pointing his blades at the patrons. “I don’t go to your graveyards and defile your loved ones. I don’t go to your police stations and military compounds and snack on soldiers. Why then would you disgusting people think it’s okay to munch on my species! Why do you think it’s okay to treat them this way in such horrible farming conditions!”

“Don’t listen to him, guys,” dismissed Steve Coleman with a wave of his meaty paw, still holding a drumstick. “It’s just some hippie faggot in a chicken suit. I’ll bet he also dresses in a cow suit before he hits up the Burger King. Or maybe he’ll dress up like a big ol’ potato and harass the guys who make Freedom Fries at McDonald’s!” The patrons chuckled at Steve’s dialogue.

“I assure you, sir, this is not a Halloween costume. And this is not about liberalism or conservatism. It’s about basic human decency. You can’t lock up a serial killer like Jeffrey Dahmer and then eat members of my clan right in front of me at the same time! Next thing you know, you’re going to start using Military Intelligence to find Jumbo Shrimp and eat those too!” belted Mikris.

A shotgun’s pump-handle echoed throughout the restaurant followed by an authoritative Southern voice shouting, “Hold it right there, goddamn it!” It was Bill Shane, nametag, apron, shotgun, and all. With the double barrels pointed squarely at Mikris, Bill said, “If you think you’re going to ruin Halloween night just so you can spread your hippie-dippie BS, you’ve got another thing coming, mister. Now put down them Jap swords and approach the counter with your fluffy feathers of your head!”

Another gun clicked and it belonged to Steve Coleman, the proud owner of a Desert Eagle Magnum big enough to fit in his frying pan-sized hands. “You’d better listen to him, buddy. You’ve caused enough trouble tonight. Don’t make either of us pull the goddamn trigger!”

Mikris chuckled hard enough to shake his waddle back and forth. “You actually think those tinker toys are going to get you guys out of this mess? Give me a fucking break. If you guys had any balls whatsoever, you’d put down the chicken wings and play army boy overseas! Now that I think about it, you’ve got all the oil you’ll ever need in those deep fryers.”

“You want to joke around, motherfucker?” taunted Bill. “That’s right, keep running your mouth. Keep giving me a reason to shoot your ugly-ass head off. If you think what we do to your so-called brethren is bad, I’m willing to bet these fine folks wouldn’t mind dining on your sorry ass right here tonight! Who’s ready for some chicken tonight?!” The patrons cheered their heads off while waving drumsticks in the air like confederate flags.

“Enough!” shouted Mikris as he grabbed a gigantic father of five, held his blades to the guy’s throat, and used him for a human shield. His children screamed and tugged on Mikris’s legs for him to let go, but the chicken warrior wouldn’t listen. “Lay down your arms or he’s a dead son of a bitch! Don’t make me do it! I’ll fucking do it!” Slowly and surely, Bill Shane and Steve Coleman set their firearms down, kicked them over to Mikris when ordered to do so, and held their hands in the air.

Amidst the crying children and confused parents clutching tightly to them, Steve begged, “For God’s sake, can you at least let the rest of these families go? You don’t need to hold them hostage too!”

“You think these little brats are innocent?!” belted Mikris. “These little cannibals are just as disgusting and lazy as the rest of you! They’re going to grow up to be heartless bastards just like their parents, that is if they live past their twenties!” With a crazed look in his eyes, he scoped around the restaurant at all of the crying patrons and said, “You all want me to die too, don’t you? You proved that much when you pointed those guns at me. Well, if you really want to die at KFC…you’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way by eating your ass off!”

One slash was all it took for Mikris to rip his hostage’s shirt off, revealing a set of man tits and a hairy chest and back. “Dear god, that’s some disgusting shit!” the chicken squirmed. “It almost reminds me of what you guys are eating right now! But you know what? It can’t be any worse than those Kit-Kat bars your children have in their pillow cases.” He traced a finger across the man’s shoulder and parted his body hair, much to the wide-eyed horror of everyone around him. “Well, you know how that saying goes: I’m going to open my mouth, close my eyes, and you’re going to give me a big surprise!”

Mikris’s beak was open wide enough for everyone to see his dangling uvula. Drool ran down his mouth and his closed eyes were watering with anticipation. The hostage yelled, “No!” as the chicken warrior leaned his head down to take a nice big chomp out of human flesh. When he clamped down on the meaty treat, it tasted crispy, greasy, and sweet all at the same time. He chewed slowly and savored the flavor while his hostage sobbed like one of his little girls. Such a heavenly treat. Such a symphony of flavors erupting on his chicken tongue. Mikris swallowed his meal and slowly opened his eyes to admire his violent handiwork.

His eyes were bulging out of their sockets when he saw he had instead taken a bite out of a piece of chicken that Steve Coleman held to his mouth. The children pointed and laughed as the avian samurai trembled in horror. He slowly lowered his blades from his hostage’s throat and stumbled backwards with an expression of fright appropriate for Halloween night.

“How does it taste, chicken man?” asked Steve with a wide grin. “You know what you hippie-dippies always say: don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Mikris was going to come back with snappy dialogue, but his beak convulsed so violently that he couldn’t form a sentence. All he could do was cluck nervously while tears poured down his feathered face and children giggled at him with sadistic delight. He could feel his own brethren sloshing around in his gut and making him just as fat and lazy as everyone around him. This was what it meant to dine on his kind. The phrase “you are what you eat” has never before been used in such a cruel way.

Mikris Nagata could feel the murky sewage in his stomach bubbling while his head felt lighter than the feathers on his body. He stumbled around like a drunken zombie struggling for equilibrium. He could feel the boiling sensation in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned like he had swallowed a branding iron. And then, the viscous acid flowed from his beak and drenched Steve Coleman’s MAGA T-shirt and sagging blue jeans.

The children laughed even harder than before, to which Mikris mockingly asked, “You like that?! You fucking like that?! Have some more!” The chicken samurai unleashed a barf storm that covered the entire restaurant and their patrons in sick fluids. A chaotic exodus from KFC saw customers trample over each other, not giving a shit about the small children trick-or-treating that night, just to get the hell away from the foul odor of vomit and shame.

Bill Shane clutched his head in sorrow while his costumers, Steve Coleman included, dashed away from his place of business. There was no way he would pass a health and safety check. His business was sure to get shut down. All he could say to that was, “Why?! I didn’t do anything wrong! All I wanted to do was serve fried chicken!”

Mikris wiped the biological sludge from his eyes and watched Bill pathetically cry over the counter with just a loose grip on the shotgun handle. The chicken warrior weakly waddled over to the manager and yanked the gun out of his hands before pointing it at him with evil intentions. Bill begged, “Please! Don’t shoot me! I’m just a manager! I’ve got a family of my own!”

The chicken warrior locked eyes with the chubby manager and got off on his fear. Mikris pressed the barrel against Bill’s cheek like a hard-on and smiled through the slimy filth on his face. His finger danced across the trigger like a nervous tick. The psychosis in his eyes grew more sadistic and perverse. And then Mirkis broke the shotgun in half across his knee before tossing the weapon to the floor. He placed his wing across the crying Bill’s shoulders and said, “Something tells me your patrons would have thrown up anyways. You’d better get this place cleaned up before the health inspector comes!”

“You’re a hypocrite! You’re a fucking hypocrite!” sobbed Bill with his head in his flabby arms.

“I know I am, Mr. Shane. But I have to admit…it tastes like chicken!”

Villains: Psychosis vs. Calmness

***VILLAINS: PSYCHOSIS VS. CALMNESS***

When I’m submitting short stories to the WSS, a common critique I get is to focus on writing about calm villains instead of psychotic ones. I admit, my borderline bipolar villains are fun as hell to write about, but I believe there’s a lot of truth in what Angie (the one who gave this advice) says when it comes to calm villains. Think about it for a minute: who would you be more afraid of: a guy who says, “I’m going to kill you” while cartoonishly laughing or a guy who says, “I’m going to kill you” while breathing calmly through his nose? Since cartoon characters don’t exist in the real world, you’re more likely to be afraid of the calm and collected guy.

Case in point, WWE Smackdown superstar Kevin Owens. A wrestling example? Again? You got that right! In his mind, he’s justified in his anger against Smackdown Commissioner Shane McMahon. Kevin believes Shane is showing bias against him and screwing him out of important championship victories. So what does Kevin do? He tells Shane to his face, “Your whole family would have been better off if you didn’t survive that helicopter crash. Your father, your wife, and especially your kids!” Shane beats the hell out of Kevin to where the latter threatens a lawsuit against the WWE (because authority figures aren’t supposed to assault the wrestlers (tell that to Stephanie McMahon)).

Shane’s father and CEO of WWE, Vince McMahon, makes an appearance on Smackdown to quash the potential lawsuit and put Kevin Owens in a Hell in a Cell match against Shane McMahon. Kevin, in his calm and collected manner, wants Vince’s word that he won’t be fired if he, “Beats a McMahon senseless.” Vince gives the okay, but without realizing that Kevin meant ANY McMahon. He heat butts the 70-year-old Vince and opens a deep cut in his forehead. The beating continues in the form of rib kicks, a super kick, and a frog splash. Kevin has a shocked look on his face like, “What the fuck did I just do?”

Next week on Smackdown, Kevin Owens, once again being the calm and collected villain he is, blames Shane McMahon for his father’s assault. His passionate tirade against the Smackdown Commissioner ends with, “For what I’m about to do to you at Hell in a Cell, people like me don’t go to Hell; people like me go to Heaven.” Imagine that last line being said through a cool demeanor. Creepy, huh?

The coolness becomes ice cold when the next week on Smackdown, Kevin Owens has a wrestling match with his longtime rival Sami Zayn. The match ends in a No Contest when Kevin power bombs Sami onto the corner of the ring apron (the hardest part of the ring) and possibly fractures his ribs and spine in the process. What does the calm villain do as Sami Zayn is being carted out of the arena? Well, he sits on the announce table and stares at Sami like he had just taken a bowlful of Prozac and washed it down with warm milk. Peace and quiet washes over Kevin Owens like warm and soothing beach water. It’s the loveliest feeling in the world for him.

Kevin Owens doesn’t have a cartoonish laugh. He doesn’t wear clown makeup. He doesn’t have bulging eyes and a nearly exploding forehead vein. He’s just this calm, cool, and collected tormentor who feels so numb that his brain might as well have been rubbed with Novocain. A straightjacket is too good for him. He needs a prison cell in the worst way. That’s how scary Kevin Owens is as a villainous wrestler. You don’t have to be a wrestling fan to appreciate how calmly psychotic he is.

Pay attention to those two operative words: “calmly psychotic”. It’s not just one or the other. It’s a combination of both, whether the psychosis is subtle or not. If Kevin Owens told you that he was going to rip your intestines out and feed them to vultures and coyotes, you’d better run as fast as you fucking can. If he told you he was going to show up at your home while you were away and hoped that your kids answered the door for him…well, you get the idea.

And then you have the other WWE example in this blog entry, the overly psychotic Bray Wyatt. Since 2013, Bray Wyatt has had the same gimmick of a backwoods cult leader. He would speak in these cryptic promos and he would back up his spookiness with a 300 lb. frame and a hard-hitting fighting style. He once had a choir of sheep-masked children sing, “He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands”, which was so spooky that it reminded me of the scene in Pink Floyd the Wall where they sang, “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2”. Couple this with backwards tarantula walking, brainwashing abilities, a worm-infested compound to live in, and a bearded face with a head full of long dirty dreadlocks and you’ve got a recipe for psychosis.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I modeled a lot of my villains after Bray Wyatt. But on the advice of my awesome friend Angie, it could be time to at least try a new style: the calm and collected villain with a subtle psychotic nature. It could be a guy who picks the wings off of flies and keeps a straight face the entire time. It could be a handsome gentleman in a suit and tie who orders human jerky online. It could be a gentle and loving grandpa who instead of slashing the shit out of people, suffocates them with duct tape by covering their mouths and noses. This is already sounding pretty creepy to me, so yes, there’s a lot of truth in what Angie says. Happy early Halloween, by the way! We’ve got ears, say cheers! Hehehehehehe!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

Despite the subtitle of this short story collection, this next piece could be my first real attempt at crafting a calm villain. He’s a politician, so being calm and charismatic comes with the territory. This story will be called “Peacemaker” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Gerard Killings, Human Assassin

2.      Misty Blades, Fox Ninja

3.      Randy Schneider, Politician

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Gerard has the unfortunate mercenary work of protecting Randy Schneider, a politician who is trying to introduce a bill that would legalize fox hunting. One night while Gerard is camping out in Mr. Schneider’s living room, the mansion is invaded by Misty Blades, an anthropomorphic fox who takes offense to the pompous politician’s anti-animal views. Gerard Killings has to decide between collecting a paycheck from Randy or giving into his disgust for his client and agreeing to help Misty. Either way, Randy Schneider isn’t a slouch himself; he’s armed with a peacemaker handgun while Gerard prefers a machete and Misty possesses a jagged katana.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Speaking of calmly villainous politicians, next on the chopping block is Randy Schneider. Maybe I could use Patrick Bateman as a reference model when I draw Randy. Or perhaps Alan Shores from the TV series “Boston Legal”. Or perhaps David Aceveda from “The Shield”. Whoever I end up modeling Randy Schneider after, it won’t be another chubby villain like I normally have. Marie Krepps likes to rib me over that, but she’s truthful in her friendly ribbing. It’s time for a change!

***WRESTLECRAP***

Another wrestling reference? Again? What’s with me and these…ugh…Anyways, now that Stuck Rubber Baby and Paper Towns are both in my rearview mirror, it’s time for a new book. Stuck Rubber Baby was a graphic novel and Paper Towns before it was a fictional novel, which means the next choice has to be nonfiction (that’s a new rule for me when I choose which book to read: I have to cover all three bases). Enter Wrestlecrap, a biography of the worst gimmicks and storylines in the history of professional wrestling, dating all the way up to 2003 when the book was published. So far, so good. It’s not earth-shattering, so it’ll probably earn a passing grade at best. I like it, though. I like it a lot!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY (AGAIN?!)***

If Dude Love and Juice Robinson formed a tag team together, they’d be called Dude Juice.

Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown Concert

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

Halloween has come and gone, so I’d like to speak a little bit about mine. As many of you know, it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year due to the dark fantasy creative fuel that comes from it. Ghosts, goblins, mummies, warlocks, necromancers, Halloween has the whole nine yards. I could write short stories and novels for days with this kind of inspiration, as dark fantasy is one of my favorite genres of books, movies, and videogames. Because I love scary themes so much, I dressed in a Slipknot mask (Mick Thomson’s take on Hannibal Lector), red Hawaiian shirt, blue pajama pants, and green cloak. Reina referred to my costume as a “random creepy guy” and I couldn’t really disagree with her. I collected a few frightened reactions on Halloween as well as a shit load of candy from Reina and I venturing to different neighborhoods in Port Orchard. It was a fun night, but make no mistake about it, at my weight and my age, it was an endurance test. I begged my mom to take me to the chiropractor after Halloween and that’s what we’re going to do sometime this week. I’m not as energetic as I used to be, which is why whenever I go to concerts, I now pick seated tickets instead of general admission floor tickets, which makes a nice segue for the main topic of this journal.

***FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH X SHINEDOWN CONCERT***

This coming Saturday November 5^th, Five Finger Death Punch is going to headline a show at the Tacoma Dome with Shinedown, Sixx AM, and As Lions opening for them. I’ve been a Five Finger Death Punch fan since 2012 and continue to rock out to their badass speed metal and melodic tunes. I only started listening to Shinedown on a regular basis when WWE Raw used their song “Enemies” for the opening theme music. I’ve only heard one Sixx AM song my whole life and that was “Rise” (damn good song if I say so myself). I’m not familiar with As Lions, but I hear the singer is the son of a heavy metal legend. Four badass heavy metal bands, one night of awesomeness. I may be doing some writing or other art work that day, I may not, depending on my energy level during that general timeframe. I jokingly refer to music concerts as one-day vacations, which means despite my temporary absence from the internet, I’ll always be back for creative work. In the words of Ivan Moody, “Let’s burn this motherfucker to the ground!”

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER SIX***

Detective Shawn Henry is having a busy night at the crime lab doing some bureaucratic bullshit for what should be an easy case. Naturally, he’s exhausted and bored out of his mind. He can’t wait to get home to his family. Roger Zee, who waits in the shadows for Detective Henry to be by himself in the crime lab, holds him hostage at blade-point and even reveals that Shawn’s family is also being held hostage in a mysterious location. Roger will let the Henry clan live in exchange for unlimited access to police resources, whether it’s computer databases, cop cooperation, or those lovely pieces of military equipment they love to flaunt so much. Will Shawn crack under the pressure and give into Roger’s demands or will things get bloody in a hurry?

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

As long as I’m opening this journal with a brief discussion of Halloween, I might as well bring up the biggest piece of dark fantasy news of all, the next entry in the Dark Fantasy Warriors collection. World, meet Bradshaw, a badass Kord-worshipping cleric whose biggest claim to fame is texting during a battle with a bloodthirsty dragon. He let his party down in a big way, but he still looked like a champ doing it. Bradshaw was a D&D character in the short story “Emoticon Artist”, being controlled by a sorrowful millennial named Beth Bradshaw. In fact, all of those D&D characters were named after the players’ surnames. That is what a creative genius I am. Cue the eye rolls.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Right between your eyes! Nowhere to hide! Click-clack, reload! Click-clack, unload! Life ain’t on your side! You’re out of time! Click-clack, reload! Click-clack, unload!”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “No Sudden Movement”-

Blood Candy

VERSE 1

Orgasmic flavor, better than Life Savers

Better than Reese’s chocolate-covered greases

Better than Snickers, blood candy for dinner

The delicacy of choice for the natural born sinner

Just one bite and you’ll be hooked forever

Violence and lust both blended together

A romantic marriage never felt so tender

Get ready for a motherfucking acid-trip bender

CHORUS

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum! X4

VERSE 2

Swallow it down like a bottle of Coca-Cola

Let it wash over your nerves like ice cold lust

Imagine a world where you’re always relaxed

Never have to worry about being dead or taxed

This is called nirvana, this is called a trance

This is called a red hot fire-belly soul dance

Forget the bills, come and get your thrills

Forget the outside world and all that it kills

CHORUS

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum! X4

HOOK

Halloween can’t come soon enough

Some like their lust a little bit rough

Munch on the candy, slap on the cuffs

Show them you’re bold and you’re hot stuff

VERSE 3

Your wildest dreams are rolling the credits

The cinematography will see no final edits

Wake up in the morning with the heaviest eyes

Come down from your Rocky Mountain highs

Your wettest dreams were nothing but lies

Blood is dripping between your aching thighs

Until next time, my friend with special benefits

Try to enjoy the daylight’s loving sentiments

EXTENDED CHORUS

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum!

March to the beat of your own drum!

Blood candy! Tasty and sweet!

It’s what you want and what you need!

Round two is coming, you wait and see!

You can’t get enough, it’s a demon called greed!

The final round is kicking down your door!

You’re forever a slave, a blood candy whore!

New Orleans Vacation: Round Two

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION: ROUND TWO***

Next Friday, as in October 30^th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!

Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).

But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30^th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4^th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.

If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***

With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.

　

SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.

　

And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender

　

SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!

The Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club

TEAM NAME: The Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club
CANON: Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer


NAME: Otis Norman
AGE: 30
OCCUPATION: Unemployed


NAME: Courtney Robyn
AGE: 28
OCCUPATION: Unemployed


There once was a time during the life of Garrison’s Library that I would blog about weird dreams I had. My blog was a place for creative fuel of all kinds, dreams being no exception. The reason I don’t do it anymore is because those small bursts of creative fuel usually don’t lead anywhere. They’re just a sequence of weird events that have no application to real life. And thus, we have a short story called Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer, where a psychopathic couple go on a rampage in the name of the same serial killer they worship so much. It was a short story so nonsensical that it was eventually dumped when I had to choose stories to publish in American Darkness.

Close your eyes and let me paint a picture for you of the two sole members of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club. If at any time you feel like you’re having an acid trip, you probably are and you should call 911, if not for yourself, then for Otis and Courtney. The two of them are unemployed, broke, and about to get kicked out of their poorly kept apartment. So what do they do about their economic situation? They start off by sneaking into an old man’s neighboring apartment and stealing clothes that would make Otis look like Jeffrey Dahmer: a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a fedora. Whether or not Jeffrey Dahmer actually wore those things is something that boggles my mind to this day.

Otis and Courtney hold hands together and skip down the stairs and toward their car like a couple in love. Not that two serial killer worshipers know anything about love, but who’s keeping score here? They get in their car and speed away before their landlord has a chance to harass them about rent money. During this million mile per hour chase down the streets and on the freeway, they cause so many accidents that they could be accused of committing genocide. That’s a lot of dead bodies and not enough morgues and graveyards to fill them. The cops couldn’t pull the couple over because the police too were involved in these horrendous and lethal accidents.

The reckless driving and the psychotic laughter was all for the purpose of going to the airport and sneaking on an airline flight to Moscow, Russia. Why are they going to Russia? To celebrate Halloween, of course. I know Russia is a mostly conservative country, so they probably don’t take Halloween as seriously as they would in, say, New Orleans. I’m not sure, because I didn’t research this, which is another mistake I made when writing Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer.

By the time Otis and Courtney hit the streets of Moscow, prostitutes and partygoers were hitting on Otis because of his Jeffrey Dahmer clothing. There was even a swarm of women who pulled him inside a nightclub while leaving a jealous Courtney out on the streets to freeze to death. She was so bitter and angry that she engaged in revenge sex with an entire hockey team. Otis found out what his girlfriend was doing, so he vomited his teeth into a garbage can. The story ended with Courtney sarcastically wishing her now ex-boyfriend a Happy Halloween.

Now do you know why Otis Norman and Courtney Robyn are unemployed? It’s not because I don’t have a use for psychotic characters. It’s because the story they were a part of didn’t make a goddamn lick of sense. Of course, nobody told me that I could have merely manipulated the details of my dream to fit a traditional narrative style. Imagine that: I can actually embellish details of my dreams! Who would’ve thunk it? But I’d better be careful, because the same people who sabotaged James Frey could sabotage me for being a big fucking liar! Cue the eye rolls.

The choice of clothing for Otis is also something I’d like to carry on should I use him or Courtney again. The Hawaiian shirt and fedora look is something currently being used by WWE wrestler Bray Wyatt, who coincidentally enough has the gimmick of a backwoods cult master. Does Otis Norman have what it takes to be a cultist? Absolutely. He’s the president of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club, for shit’s sake. For all we know, Courtney Robyn could be his deacon. Or his altar girl, depending on how sick he can actually be. With so much potential surrounding a creepy cultist gimmick, it won’t be long before Otis and Courtney find work again. Hell, I already wrote a short poem about them. But they can do more. They certainly can do more.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

(RE: Paige licking her face.)

“You don’t have to sexually harass me in order to have a good match with me!”

-Natalya from “Total Divas”-

The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror

SERIES TITLE: The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror

GENRE: Animated Horror Comedy

RATING: TV-PG for strong violence, mild language, black humor, and disturbing moments

GRADE: Pass

Anytime I browse the internet looking for a conversation about The Simpsons, it seems as though there’s always a raucous debate going on about whether or not the animated series is funny. People say it was funny in the 90’s but not after that. Others say it stood the test of time. Something definitely happened to the series when time transitioned from the 1990’s to the 2000’s and 2010’s. The style of humor is different, that’s for sure. But the one thing about The Simpsons that will remain a constant is the yearly Halloween episodes aptly called The Treehouse of Horror series.

In a regular Simpsons episode, you can expect zaniness and quirkiness throughout all 30 minutes. In a Treehouse of Horror episode, you’d better be wearing dark pants with a diaper underneath. Every episode is 30 minutes of something TV Tropes calls Nightmare Fuel. May God send a lightning bolt through my body if I’m lying. My skin isn’t crispy and my hair isn’t black, so I must be telling the truth.

The Nightmare Fuel begins with the music. During the opening sequence, the regular Simpsons theme is done in a slow and creepy whistle with dramatic symphonic music in the background. During the closing credits, the music is faster and closer to the real Simpsons theme, but it’s done with the creepy whistle yet again and this time either a church organ or harpsichord, depending on the episode. While you’re listening to this music, you somehow get the feeling there are monsters in your house waiting to chomp you like spaghetti and meatballs. It’s a haunted feeling and you will be disturbed by it.

After the end credits are over, we go to the Gracie Films logo. The variation differs from episode to episode, but it’s generally always been the same. Instead of a gentle shushing noise, it’s a woman giving off a high-pitched, blood-curdling death scream. Instead of a soothing electric piano, the Gracie Films theme is played on a church organ and in a minor key. Every year when I watch the end credits, my heart races and my blood goes cold in anticipation for this Gracie Films spoof. It’s that creepy.

The couch gags from the first ten Treehouse of Horror episodes are nothing to be comfortable around either. They started using couch gags in the third annual episode, which showed The Simpson family as skeletons. The episode after that showed them as bloodthirsty zombies. The sixth Treehouse of Horror might be the scariest as it shows the Simpsons being lynched with their necks snapped and their eyes crossed. When the next shot after the couch gag shows opening credits on the TV, it puts the point of view directly in front of the monstrous versions of the Simpson family. Which means they’re right behind you. If you don’t have your head on a swivel, you’re going to be zombie chow. Watch your back before Bart plants a dagger in it or Homer takes a bite out of your shoulder.

These aspects of the show are scary enough on their own. But let’s not forget the bulk of every episode is the three stories within them. These episodes are so bloody and gory that you’ll need a rowboat to navigate the sets. The monsters are so ugly and hideous that you might die of vomiting yourself dry before they get a chance to eat you. That zany and ridiculous humor you were counting on in the regular episodes? We’re getting a little darker with that, so dark that Anthony Jeselnik, George Carlin (RIP), and Daniel Tosh would all need Xanax to combat their nightmares. Good thing dark comedians have a high salary, because it’s all going to therapy.

Commonsense would dictate that anybody who wants to have a functioning heart or a hair color other than white would stay away from these episodes of The Simpsons. Every year, these episodes disturb the shit out of me, more so than any legitimate horror movie like Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13^th, or Poltergeist. If you can take a whacky comedy series and turn it into a Nightmare Fuel station, you’ve got some serious skills. Despite being horrified by these episodes, I look forward to them every year and I sit down to watch them. I will say this, though: despite receiving a passing grade tonight, the Treehouse of Horror franchise went from being horrifying to darkly funny over the past two plus decades. There is some legitimacy in that argument. But you know what? I always keep my black athletic pants in my closet for such an occasion.

Halloween at the Library

What’s your favorite part of Halloween? The mountains of candy? The excuse to put on a costume? Visiting lots of spooky houses? My favorite part of Halloween is the annual Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode. I anticipate these specials so much that I occasionally have dreams about either watching them or being a character in them. Every dream ends the same way: with me cowering away from the end credits where the Gracie Films lady screams her head off in terror before organ music plays.

The Treehouse of Horror episodes can get crazy in a hurry. But why the hell would the guys at Gracie Films do an episode…in a library? Don’t get me wrong, I love to kick back and read like every other geek out there. But this is Halloween. You can’t eat books and get a sugar headache. You might have intestinal problems, but no sugar headache.

It turns out the library was supposed to be a safe haven from the monsters outside who like to eat human beings like the candy that’s supposed to be given out. I didn’t know what kind of monsters they were and I wasn’t anxious to find out. So what does the library do? They keep the patrons safe by isolating them with magical curtains. It’s the introvert’s paradise: a curtain booth with nothing but a good book and a wild imagination.

The curtain booths actually do a good job of keeping me and the Simpson family safe, which is kind of anticlimactic for a Treehouse of Horror episode. I’ll tell you what wasn’t anticlimactic. The library offered patrons the chance to take a quiz to figure out which musician has a crush on us. When I took this quiz, I was excited that the results would say something like Tarja Turunen, Maria Brink, or Jeanne Sagan. Nope. I got Elton John. There’s nothing wrong with Elton John having a crush on me, but it’s not the answer I was hoping for.

Thus ends this dreamy episode of The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. And the best part: no screaming lady after the end credits! Waking up without pissing my bed is a nice way to start the morning. Waking up with more questions than answers is not. I can figure out why The Simpsons would figure into my subconscious: because I enjoy the Halloween episodes.

But why did it take place in a library and why does Elton John find me attractive? I like libraries, but I’ve only heard two Elton John songs in my whole life: “I’m Still Standing” and “Rocket Man”. In the latter of these two songs, Elton says that mars isn’t the kind of place to raise your kids, because it’s cold as hell. You know what else is cold as hell? My subconscious’ sense of humor. Laugh it up, inner brain. I’m glad you think this is hilarious.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’re only going to lock up true sex offenders. We’re not going to bother with consenting adults who like to dress up in leather boy scout uniforms and smash each other in the head with ball peen hammers while they take turns blowing their cat. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that. It’s a victimless hobby. And think of how good the cat must feel. We’re only going to lock up rapists and molesters. Those hopeless romantics who are so full of love they can’t help but get a little bit of it on you. Usually on your leg.”

-George Carlin-

The Sandman

Throughout my whole life, I’ve seen three different examples of what a “Sandman” is supposed to be. First, there was the version we all heard as kids: that creepy dude that sprinkles dust in your eyes so that you’ll fall asleep faster. What he does to you afterwards is anybody’s guess. If you’re a wrestling fan, particularly hardcore wrestling, then The Sandman has a much different meaning to you. He was an antisocial beer drinker who liked to throw his opponents into barbed wire and knock them out with Singapore cane shots to the skull. Again, what this version of The Sandman did to his opponents after they were knocked unconscious, well, that’s up for debate. And then you have a version of The Sandman that comes from the works of Neil Gaiman. I had no idea Neil Gaiman even existed until I got a Sandman graphic novel for my 28^th birthday. The point was further emphasized when I saw Mr. Gaiman on an episode of The Simpsons that made fun of team writing. Speaking of team writing, I’d like to do a blog entry about that someday. Sounds like fun. But you know what? We still have to do something with this Sandman topic. What we have here are three different examples of what a Sandman is supposed to be. That leads me to believe that you can slap the name Sandman on pretty much any character you’ve got and it’ll sell like hotcakes. For instance, if you were writing the script for a manga series about giant robots, you could call the main giant robot The Sandman and he’ll be more badass for it. Maybe he can carry a fiery scythe and a chain gun while having a Mary Jane cigarette between its teeth. Or maybe you’re working on a horror novel and The Sandman can be a creepy ghost that sneaks into the bedrooms of little boys and girls at night. What he does with them is all up to your sick and sadistic imagination, you fucking freak. What if you’re writing a Dungeons & Dragons-style adventure novel and The Sandman was a seven-foot tall black knight with a battleaxe as big as his torso? It could very well happen. Being called a “Sandman” is a very good thing. Take advantage of the moniker as much as you can. Hell, I can be a Sandman myself because I’m probably putting you all to sleep with my mindless banter. If that’s the case, grab a blanket and put on some new age tunes, because it’s going to be a long night!

　

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do horror movie monsters and trick-or-treaters have in common?
A: They like to eat airheads.