Dave Meltzer vs. David Starr a.k.a. the Catalyst for the #SpeakingOut Movement

 

David Draiman Doesn't Know What Anti-Semitism Is, So Someone Should Explain It to Him...Slowly

 

Alfred E. Neuman vs. Judge Judy: See You Next Tuesday, Your Honor

 

Jerry Seinfeld: Living Proof That Not All Dinosaurs Were Wiped Out

 

Larry David vs. Waldo: Blending in with the Crowd Isn't the Flex You Think It Is

 

Tarja Turunen (ex-Nightwish) vs. Alex Trebek (Jeopardy): No Beef, Just for Shits and Giggles

 

Chef Tova vs. Myron Gaines from Fresh & Fit: Happy Men's Mental Health Awareness Month!

 

Ben Stein: Clear Eyes Is Awesome, Conservatism Is Not

 

Bruce Friedman: The Michael Jordan of Book Banning and the Riley Gaines of Mediocrity

 

The Friars Club

 

Yes, I know the Friars Club is defunct now, but if they ever get revived, Benny boy would make a hell of a roasting victim. He loves being the victim. It's not second nature to him. It's first!

Mayim Bialik

 

David Draiman from Disturbed

 

Dave Meltzer vs. Seth Rollins

 

"Maus II" by Art Spiegelman

BOOK TITLE: Maus II: A Survivor’s Tale: And Here My Troubles Began

AUTHOR: Art Spiegelman

YEAR: 1991

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Holocaust Memoir

GRADE: A

Under no circumstances should this memoir be banned from school libraries, or anywhere else for that matter. Yes, it is an insanely uncomfortable read. It shows Jewish mice being burned in ovens, beaten, starved, traumatized, shot, all in the name of blind bigotry by the Nazi regime. This book is disturbing, disgusting, and horrifying all at once. You know why that is? Because the Holocaust was disturbing, disgusting, and horrifying all at once. This is probably the most honest portrayal of history’s worst behavior you’ll ever see. It’s honest because the author’s father experienced it all. There are no punches pulled. There is no sugar-coating or whitewashing. Just brutal honesty, because the subject matter will always be brutal no matter which angle you look at it from. A sanitized version wouldn’t have had the same emotional impact. When I read up to page 75, I was so disturbed by the Nazis’ violence that I got dizzy afterwards. I’ve been disturbed lots of times, but this is the first time it has ever made me light-headed. To all the people wanting to ban this book for “naked mice” and “swearing”, it was never about those things. The book bans have more to do with suppressing important messages and keeping the masses ignorant so that they’ll be more likely to vote for people who care only about making themselves richer.

Equally heartbreaking was watching Art Spiegelman’s mental process throughout creating this comic in his father’s honor. He had over twenty hours of tape-recorded conversations with his father and it wore on him after a while. Impostor Syndrome crept up on him for not being “realistic” enough or “doing him justice”. The secondhand trauma also sent him into a depressive spiral. The constant questions and prying from the media made him want to bawl his eyes out like a child crying out for his mommy, a Holocaust-surviving mommy who killed herself because of overwhelming PTSD. It’s a lot to take in all at once, not just for the reader, but also for the author. If Art was a fictional character, he would be instantly praised as being three-dimensional. His father would receive such praise as a character as well, doing what he had to do to survive the concentration camps while starving to death and being sick with Typhus. It doesn’t matter what page you turn to in this graphic novel, because there will never not be a heartbreaking moment to read about.

Let’s talk for a little bit about Art Spiegelman’s choice to use anthropomorphic animals to depict various ethnicities. It is called Maus, after all. He chose mice to represent Jewish people, because rodents were a common slur for Nazis to use. The Germans soldiers, of course, were depicted as cats, notorious hunters of rodents. Americans were depicted as dogs, playing into that old trope of dogs and cats not getting along. These aren’t the only examples, but using animals is a genius move on the author’s part. It’s not just an attempt at being cute; these animals have symbolic meanings. Every choice Spiegelman made in this novel had a purpose of some kind; nothing was left to chance. As pressured as he was to get his father’s story out there, no one can accuse the author of not knowing what he was doing. That is the mark of any good author: when everything has a reason for being there.

Maus II is easily the most frightening book I’ve ever read. I’ve read plenty of fictional horror stories and bloody fantasy novels over the years, but this is nonfiction in its rawest state. This isn’t a 140-page edge-fest; this topic was handled with great sensitivity despite its horrifying nature. I would advise anybody reading this review or either of the Maus books to handle the Holocaust with sensitivity as well. Edgy alt-right jokes are not funny and I don’t want them anywhere near me. The ones who punch down like that have never had a single hardship in their lives, let alone anything equivalent to living in a concentration camp. Maybe the Maus series will make SJW’s out of us all and I’d be very much onboard with that. Five stars out of five is what this graphic novel gets.

Inglorious Basterds

MOVIE TITLE: Inglorious Basterds

DIRECTOR: Quentin Tarantino

YEAR: 2009

GENRE: War Movie

RATING: R for violence, language, and sexual content

GRADE: Mixed

With all the political tension in today’s world, who wouldn’t want to escape into a world of Nazi-slaying fun? Cutting off their scalps, beating them with a bat, shooting them up, burning them down, if there’s a way to kill a Nazi in World War II, Aldo Raine and his troops will make it happen. You know who else will make it happen? A lone Jewish woman named Shosanna whose family was slaughtered by the Nazi war machine. That’s a lot of vengeful desires from anybody not involved in the Third Reich. There’s no possible way that this movie could be anything but perfect, right? Well, that’s where Quentin Tarantino’s biggest fault comes into play: sometimes his movies drag on for an excruciatingly long time. Inglorious Basterds was no exception to that rule. I realize a movie can’t be all action and no drama, but the reverse is also true if the idea is to make a revenge flick: it can’t be all drama and too little action. Some of the chapters could have been cut short and it wouldn’t have hurt the movie in any way, especially the chapter where the Nazis play the card game at a bar. If you want your bloodthirsty fun, you’ll have to get in line like everyone else.

But when you get exactly what you wanted out of this film, it’ll be exactly as you expected. The outcome of the story was never in doubt for even a second. Aldo Raine and his troops are overpowered in spite of the fact that some of them get killed along the way. Shosanna’s own plans for revenge are so brilliant that detailed that no German soldier could possibly crack her code. Everything that could go right in this movie did go right…except for the element of surprise for the audience. I guess when the genre is described as a “revenge flick”, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. No serious detective work has to be done. But can I at least believe for one small minute that the good guys have a chance of losing? Having a few of their soldiers killed vulnerability does not make. I want to see some flaws. I want to see some cracks in the world’s most impressive plot armor. Maybe if the German propaganda machine took these kinds of notes, their films wouldn’t look so ridiculous on screen.

If you think this review is going to be a nonstop bash-fest, you’re wrong. It was enjoyable for what it was. Quentin Tarantino’s dialogue will always deliver no matter what the genre of his movies. The subterfuge his characters engage in is also an impressive feat that required an extraordinary amount of creativity. Above all else, however, I must give my highest praise to the character work of Hans Lander, the Nazi colonel nicknamed the “Jew Hunter”. No, I’m not condoning his belief system, just his villainy. Whenever he interrogates someone, he knows he’s got his victims by the throat. He purposefully tiptoes around the answers he receives to give his liars a false sense of hope. I’d call this a perfect game of cat and mouse…if the cat had drill bits for fangs, battleaxes for claws, and venom for drool. I’d dare say that Hans is even more intimidating and dangerous than his boss Hitler himself. He’s so believable as a villain that he can almost negate my earlier point of the outcome being too predicable. Key word being almost.

It wouldn’t be fair to call Inglorious Basterds my least favorite Quentin Tarantino movie, because all in all I did enjoy it. Having a least favorite Tarantino movie is like having a least favorite flavor of ice cream: in the end, it’s still ice cream and it’s still going to be more delicious than the creamy strudel Shosanna and Landers shared in the high scale restaurant. This movie gets a mixed grade from me, but it’ll be a high mixed, which means three-and-a-half stars out of five. In the interest of being decisive and honest, I’ll round it down to a solid three. Being average doesn’t have to be a bad thing, right?

Tribes

PLAY TITLE: Tribes

PLAYWRIGHT: Nina Raine

OPENING YEAR: 2010

MATURE CONTENT: Language

GENRE: Family Drama

GRADE: Mixed

Verbal sparring is the conversation of choice within a Jewish-British family that consists of rightwing nut job father Christopher, detective novelist mother Beth, schizophrenic college student Daniel, spitfire opera star Ruth, and the centerpiece of this play, the deaf translator Billy. Their already volatile situation is made worse when Billy finds romance with another deaf person named Sylvia, who teaches him sign language. Billy believes that Sylvia has been more supportive of him than his own family and the two move into an apartment together. The common theme of this play is finding acceptance in a world that seems to be closing in around the oppressed.

This play is divided into two acts and I can safely say that the second is better than the first. The first act serves as an introduction to all of the dysfunction within Billy’s argumentative family. While I understand that building up to the climax has to start somewhere, the first act felt unrealistic to me as far as fighting goes. It seemed like the characters were arguing for the sake of arguing. Instead of resolving their differences, the family comes off as total jerks that nobody wants to relate to. Sure, there are some funny lines in there, but humor is subjective and I only laughed three times during this whole play. My favorite line has to be when the father makes a joke about how having sex with an ugly woman is like “sticking your cock in a cement mixer”. Every other piece of dialogue comes off as childish and mean-spirited. I bet there are families like that out there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to be around them.

The second act was a breath of fresh air compared to the first. Instead of mindless bickering that doesn’t feel organic, you get true emotional situations. Arbitrary anger is replaced with pain, heartbreak, and passion. You can feel Sylvia’s heart shattering into a million pieces when she talks about feeling alone in this world even among a group of other deaf people. When Billy throws his Santa hat in frustration, you’d better have some tissues in your pockets. When Daniel’s stammering habits come back to haunt him, you want to be part of his hug with Billy near the end. Even though they had a blandly angry script to work with in act one, the actors did a phenomenal job in carrying the drama through. Imagine what they can pull off when the emotions are believable and relatable on a deeper level.

Speaking of believability, Daniel’s schizophrenic quirks struck a chord within me. As many of my readers know, I’ve been a schizophrenic since 2002, maybe earlier. The struggle to shut up the voices, the feeling of despair, the voices interrupting during important conversations, the insulting language in which the voices speak, those were all things I could relate to when it came to Daniel’s character. By the time the play was over, I was rooting for him to get better. In act one, however, he acts like a major pain in the ass and in many cases a verbal bully, which is why it took so long for me to relate to him. But relate to him I did. I even had to remind myself that erratic behavior is a common symptom of schizophrenia. Lord knows I’ve done some crazy stuff during the early onset of my disease.

Somewhere in the scuffle of hateful dialogue, there are messages about accepting each other for who we are, being free-thinking individuals, and being supportive when it truly counts. You might have to wait a while for the more tender parts of the play to show themselves, but it’ll be worth the wait. Some of the banter might remind you of your own family, though hopefully not to that extreme. If you’re not overly sensitive when it comes to dysfunctional family matters, then I would advise you to buy a ticket to see this play. Patience is a virtue, which is true for living with crazy characters and watching this performance. I believe a mixed grade will do just fine.

Zion Heart

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next act for the Central River High year-end talent show is a classic rock acoustic guitar piece. Please put your hands together for Miss Eleanor Paris!”

From behind the curtain, hearing Mr. Jeremy Land’s voice on the microphone accompanied by applauding hands sent chills through Eleanor’s body. She thought back to all of the times older kids shoved her against lockers and called her sexist names. She thought back to all of the teachers who doubted her guitar-playing abilities. And now here they all were to see what she was made of.

The redheaded, beige dress-wearing Eleanor took a deep breath to calm her nerves and treaded through the curtain to take her seat on the stool. She took a moment to survey the crowd before her. Some of the boys were chuckling silently and pointing at her. Some of the girls put on their best bitch faces with their arms folded. Another deep breath later and it was show time.

She rested her acoustic guitar on her lap and adjusted the microphone to her height before she started strumming away. She was gentle with every chord, almost putting her worst critics in a siren’s trance. And when she sang her lines, she had a voice of pure angelic gold.

“The child lay in the starlit night. Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light. How strange to choose to end a life. How strange to choose to kill a child. Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep, Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands. Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel. Our standard of living, could this be a reason…that we would choose to kill the child? That we would choose to kill the child?”

Those dark and heartbreaking lyrics put thoughtful frowns on the faces of her audience. No more were they giggling and pointing. Eleanor had these dopey teenagers at full attention. She strummed her chords with even more passion than before only to find her microphone silenced as she sang the second verse. She patted the microphone head a few times and then pounded it with her fist to try to get it working again. The once doubtful students were now in shock.

“I assure you, Miss Paris, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your microphone.” There was nothing wrong with Principal Gary Weinberg’s microphone either as he sat in the back of the auditorium with a disgusted look on his pudgy face.

“However!” he said with a booming voice in his Jewish accent. “There is something wrong with that song you’re singing! For all of our younger students who didn’t live with this kind of music, that song was written by former Pink Floyd bassist Roger Waters! His recent comments in the news about the Jewish people reek of racism and hatred! This school prides itself on its anti-discrimination policies! Because you, Miss Paris, have played a song by a raging bigot with the intent to incite trouble, you by proxy are in violation of those rules! Get off the stage! As a matter of fact, get out of my school!”

The student audience went silent as Eleanor ducked her head in shame and shed silent tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of the same people who put her down so many times. She wanted to get up from her stool and hide in a corner somewhere, but her legs were shaking with anxiety.

The dark haired, purple dress shirt and jeans-wearing Mr. Land approached the stage and gave Eleanor a gentle hug to try and comfort her. All it did was make the tears pour like a flooding rainstorm. “It’s okay, Eleanor. It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Mr. Land pounded the microphone until it started working again. With a stern look on his face and his finger pointed at Principal Weinberg, he ripped into him with, “As a history and political science teacher, I thought I should correct you on something. If you actually paid attention to Roger Waters’ comments, he was attacking the Israeli government for their treatment of the Palestinians. It had nothing to do with Jewish people in general and certainly had nothing to do with little old you, Principal Weinberg! And quite frankly, I agree with what Roger Waters has said!”

Principal Weinberg laughed in jest and said, “Oh, this is rich. You’re actually debating me on this. You think you know more about my culture than I do.” Gary’s face turned serious when he said, “The fact that you’re even arguing this with me is hysterical. Actually, there’s nothing funny about it. It’s disgusting. It’s disgraceful. It’s unbecoming of someone like you, Mr. Land, who’s supposed to have an intricate knowledge about worldwide cultures!”

Eleanor held her hand up like she would if she wanted to be called on in class. She weakly said, “Um, excuse me, Mr. Weinberg, but this isn’t about…”

“Shut up, Miss Paris!” yelled the Jewish Principal as he stood up and pointed a commanding finger at her. “I’ve said pretty much everything I wanted to say to you! Now take your guitar and play that vile racist crap somewhere else!”

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” shouted Jeremy. “You never talk to your students that way! And by the way, if you’ve actually paid attention to anything Roger Waters has done over the course of his life, you’d know that you’re reminding everyone of how depressing your school system has become! Do you know why he says, ‘We don’t need no education?’ It’s because people like you make school a dangerous place to go! These students depend on you for guidance and wisdom! They don’t want to be talked down to by a power hungry, bottom feeding snake in the grass!”

That last line got a round of applause by the student audience while Gary Weinberg smiled sarcastically and shook his head. “You guys like that?” The audience cheered louder. “You want him to keep going?” They cheered even louder. “Well, he’s not going to do that! You’re fired, Jeremy!” The audience went silent and formed frowns on their faces. “As the Principal of this school, it’s my job to keep order around here! Are you surprised by the fact that I fired an insubordinate employee? You kids are lucky that the worst that happens to you is detention! In the real world, if you don’t conform to the rules, you sleep on the corner! Get out of here, Jeremy! Out right now!”

Mr. Land, seething with hot rage, threw down his microphone and broke it in two before marching his way down the aisle and through the exit. Before making his departure, he said, “You can take the microphone replacement out of my severance package!” He slammed the door with a thunderous thud.

Eleanor Paris remained sitting on the stage with tears in her eyes, snot in her nose, and a contorted frown on her face. She knew she was next on Weinberg’s shit list, but didn’t have the strength in her convulsing legs to get up and go. The Principal encouraged her with, “Well, what are you waiting for, Miss Paris? Get going! The final curtain has dropped on this talent show! Move it!”

She stood up and staggered off the stage, tripping many times in her high-heeled shoes. There were times when she just crawled across the floor with the helpless audience watching in pity. This demeaning scenario put her mind back to those dark places. This crippling anxiety was what she felt whenever another student physically or verbally assaulted her. It was what she felt when she doubted her own guitar playing abilities. It was amazing she could hold onto her guitar at all with her shaky fear as she took the walk of shame.

Eleanor Paris was ready to give up the fight against a corrupt system and walk out of the door with tears dominating her beautiful visage. She held onto the door handle for support and took one last sorrowful look at Principal Gary Weinberg’s jowl-covered face. This man had just fired his best teacher, expelled his best student, and silenced an entire crowd of students before turning them into conformist, putty-faced zombies. Come to think of it, what did she have left to lose? Who the hell did this guy think he was? What the fuck was she going to do about it?

She turned to face her tormentor with a different reason for trembling. It wasn’t anxiety; it was anger. Pure, white hot, volcanic anger for the authoritative bullshit that served as Roger Waters’ creative fuel. Eleanor steadied her lips and asked, “What was that thing you said about kids only getting detention for punishment? Well, seeing as how detention and expulsion are really just vacations in disguise and summertime is already here…”

An evil, quivering, rage-induced grin spread across Eleanor Paris’ face as she raised her guitar in the air and smashed it over Gary Weinberg’s head, knocking him to the ground and giving him a reason to abuse a bottle of Advil the next morning. The students and teachers alike gasped in shock while Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and said, “Do we really need an education from a guy who just lost fifty IQ points?” The student audience burst into raucous cheers while the teachers were frozen with fear. 

Weird Ass Dreams

***WEIRD ASS DREAMS***

I don’t often talk about my dreams anymore, but since I’m desperate for journal topics and it’s past the three day limit, I think this needs to be said. Last night, I had two of the weirdest dreams I could possibly have. The first one was just plain weird while the second one could be considered a nightmare. You don’t have to worry about me being traumatized or anything like that. But if I don’t share these dreams with you guys, I feel like it’ll be all for nothing. So, here we go…

　

In the first dream, my brother James took me to a theme park. At first I didn’t know what theme park it was, so naturally I envisioned water slides and rollercoasters as I tried to guess this surprise. Turns out it was a theme park based on the idea of Muslims and Jews getting along. I shit you not. Among the attractions were the two cultures sitting in a giant field with each other and going swimming together in an indoor pool. I like the idea of people coexisting peacefully, but there’s just one problem: no rollercoasters. None. Not one fucking rollercoaster. So I decide to send James a text message saying I’m headed for home to find something more fun to do than to hang out at the theme park. He sends one back to me saying that I’m ignorant and uneducated, basically muscling me back into the theme park with a guilt trip. And then the two of us run around the theme park pretending to be Clerks characters. I ate an ice cream cone beforehand, so naturally I gassed out early while James, being the athlete he is, outruns me for miles.

And then you have the second dream, the one I consider to be a nightmare. The dream took place in a massage parlor based on one that’s right here in my home town of Port Orchard. I wish I was making that part up. It’s in a strip mall next to the tobacco store where I used to buy Susan cigarettes. The windows are blacked out and the business sign just says “Massage”. In my dream, I finally decide it’s time to lose my virginity, so I go into that same massage parlor looking for sex. I have to wait in the lobby so that the staff can find me a suitable girl who will be my first lay. Here’s where the sexy dream turns into a nightmare. In the lobby, there are television monitors mounted on the walls. And on these monitors, they’re showing…(gulp)…overly muscular cartoon men from around the world raping each other as well as raping a few animals. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the trauma still lingered. Regardless, James took out his smart phone and Googled a better place to get laid, which is in California. Before I had the chance to drive there, I woke up from the dream feeling terrified of what I saw in the massage parlor.

　

Will I be using these dreams for creative fuel? The answer to that question is the same as any other dream I’ve posted about in Garrison’s Library: no. I kept saying yes during those past posts, but I never got around to it, so I might as well give an honest answer and say no this time. However, the idea of weird ass dreams and nightmares could work in a short story for the WSS. Maybe the guy could go to a sleep clinic and have the worst nightmare in his whole life. He could be possessed by a demon or he could be haunted by psychological demons from his past. I like where this is going! We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: Things happened today, things that probably ruined my chances with Caitlin.
RANDAL: What, the dead guy? She’ll get over fucking a dead guy. Shit, my mom’s been fucking a dead guy for thirty years. I call him dad.
DANTE: Caitlin and I can’t be together after this, it’s impossible.
RANDAL: Melodrama seems to come as naturally for you as a normal bowel movement.

-Clerks-

Nathan Phoenix

This is a rhetorical question, but only because the answer is so fucking far out of reach for many of my readers. Can someone explain to me why a Scottish martial artist would have a Jewish given name (Nathan) and a non-ethnic last name (Phoenix)? I’m not talking about a Scottish immigrant coming to the US or an American of Scottish decent. I’m talking about an actual guy from Scotland whose name is Nathan Phoenix. Normally, people over there are named Ian MacDonald or Bryan McKee. But Nathan Phoenix? Not in a million years, though in a million years, the earth will probably be a gigantic ball of flaming shit, so it matters even less. It’s pretty safe to say when I invented Nathan Phoenix as a reserve character, I didn’t have a mind for ethnic names. Hell, I had a Chinese warlord whose name was Kasabian. But enough about nationalities for a moment. Let’s talk about Nathan instead. He’s got some badass red hair. It’s spiky, it’s puffy, and it comes with a neatly trimmed goatee. He also has the muscular build of an NFL linebacker. And when he throws a spinning kick to an opponent’s jaw, that’ll be the last time said opponent eats solid food. His punches are no less lethal. One punch to the ribs and every breath you take will feel like a sword going through your body. Now that we’ve established how badass Nathan Phoenix can be, where do we put him? What kind of home do you give to a guy who can make it anywhere? He’s a martial artist, so maybe we can put him in a 3D fighting videogame. Or we can put him in an MMA cage. Or a wrestling ring. Nathan loves the arena feel, so it should be something in that area. I know absolutely nothing about soccer despite playing it as a small child, but maybe Nathan could even be a soccer player with a mean streak as long as Saturn’s rings. Could you imagine what kind of damage he could do if he kicked a soccer ball and it hit you in your own balls? That’ll be the end of your bloodline, that’s for sure. As long as Nathan Phoenix has a crowd around him and he’s beating somebody up, he’s a happy guy. He’ll flash the biggest smile even though most of his teeth will be crooked from the fight. If he has to go to jail for some reason, this will definitely come in handy. Prisoners love watching a good fight as long as they’re not the ones getting beaten up. Prisoners also love to use their large numbers to single out their prey. Not a good thing to do to Nathan Phoenix, because he’ll punch and kick those prisoners so hard that he’ll make a Bruce Lee movie look like the next installment of Saw. You need an arena fighter? Look no further than the masterpiece himself, Nathan Phoenix. Isn’t that right, laddie? Actually, a guy named Nathan saying “laddie” sounds a little frightening. That could be another aspect of his intimidation game.

　

***MIXED-MARTIAL ARTS QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“He’s taking a book out of Chuck Liddell’s chapter.”

-Mike Goldberg-