***WARRIOR NAMES***
We’ve seen a lot of fantasy warriors come and go throughout our creative fuel intake. They tend to have last names like Overspark, Dreadlord, and Pusdrinker. Yes, that last one is a real enemy from Diablo II: Lord of Destruction; I shit you not. In all my time of writing fantasy and sci-fi stories, I’ve pretty much just passively accepted the fact that warriors have two-word last names that describe how badass they really are. That’s where I got characters like Deus Shadowheart, Butch Hellfire, and Machu Throatslash to name a few.
However, the more I started collaborating with Marie Krepps to fix my short stories, the more I realized that such two-word last names sound a little too…obvious. And to her credit, Marie has a point here. After all, when you eventually meet Machu Throatslash’s parents, what do your refer to them as? Mr. and Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll make for some fun conversations. Suppose Machu wanted to take a cute girl to the prom with him and then the two decide to marry. Would the girl be legally obligated to call herself Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll look good on her credit card application: Julia Samantha Throatslash. She doesn’t actually want to make any purchases with it; she just wants to run the sharp edge across someone’s neck and bleed them out.
Ever since hearing the other side of the warrior name argument, I’m kind of on the fence now with what I believe. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of my fantasy and sci-fi traditions. I want to have badass warriors whose names strike fear in the hearts of their opponents. But then again, if they really are badass warriors, do they need to have overpowered names? Couldn’t they just get the job done by breathing fire on their opponents or chopping their heads off with a magical battleaxe?
I have to confess that Marie’s critique was the inspiration behind the John Bush character from “Kill, Cut, Scalp”. The whole reason that hero took the name John Bush was so that the evil sorcerer Dark-Law wouldn’t suspect him of being a fire breathing death angel, which he eventually transformed into to get his assassination job done. It’s easy to trust a guy name John Bush (even if he is a death angel), but if his name was Konnor Dragonslash, then the ruse would have been all for naught and Dark-Law would have killed him off right then and there.
George Carlin did an entire comedy routine about the power names have to influence history. There would have never been a World War II if Hitler’s first name was Floyd. They would have beaten the shit out of him in Munich in 1931! And nobody would have been fearful of Jack the Ripper if his first name was Wally. And Billy the Kid? Do you think anyone would take him seriously if his name was Billy the Schmuck?
I guess the lesson to be learned with giving your characters overpowered names is to judge how seriously you want the warriors to be taken by their enemies. Helpless civilians would bow at the metal boots of Konnor Dragonslash or Viktor Fireborn, but they’d laugh John Bush or George Kerry out of the building. Maybe you want your characters to be as intimidating as possible. Or your philosophy could be based on a rhyme that fellow indie author Edward Davies once bestowed upon me: “Convince your enemies that you’re benign and you will beat them every time.” Choose your fate, noble warriors, and bring back a severed demon head. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***BACK TO RANDOM SELECTION***
In an effort to jumpstart my creative life again, I’ve gone back to the idea of randomly selecting my next artistic task. I did this back in the summertime with plenty of success. I’m doing it now with even more success. There are currently six items on my list to choose from:
1. American Darkness: put together the paperback and Kindle versions of this newly revised anthology.
2. Dark Fantasy Warriors: draw a picture of the next randomly selected short story character on my list, which this time happens to be the fourth and final character from “Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny”, Edgar Rinehart, elf mercenary.
3. The Girlfriend Wager: read 30 pages of this self-published raunchy sex comedy by Edward Davies.
4. Poison Tongue Tales: edit the next randomly chosen short story from this sci-fi, horror, and fantasy anthology. If you’ve been to your Deviant Art inboxes lately, you would have seen a revision of Bee Jay the Glutinous. Marie really wants to eat macaroni and cheese with a talking orange kitty now. ^_^
5. The Silence of the Lambs: read 30 pages of this traditionally published serial killer mystery by Thomas Harris.
6. Weekly Short Story Contests and Company: catch up on the reading of this week’s “Broken Windows” short stories (which I’ve already done) and contribute a story before the week is over (which is also something I’ve already done).
There is one item that should be on this list, but isn’t, and that’s Blood Brawl. Blood Brawl is supposed to be my main novel WIP, but ever since making it to chapter three, I’ve hit a roadblock. The entirety of this chapter is supposed to be Ivan Blackstone chasing Justine Dupree down the street while swinging a scythe in the air. How the hell am I supposed to stretch out a chase scene for that long and keep it from getting dull? I have no choreography, damn it! I’ll figure something out come hell or high water. But for now, Blood Brawl is off the menu.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
WYNARSKI: I went into the video store one time and that son of a bitch was sleeping.
DANTE: I’m sure Randal wasn’t sleeping.
WYNARSKI: Are you calling me a liar?! Are you calling me a liar?!
DANTE: No, I’m saying maybe he was resting his eyes or something like that.
WYNARSKI: What the hell is that, resting his eyes? What is he, an air traffic controller?
DANTE: Actually, that’s his night job.
-Clerks-
Showing posts with label John Bush. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Bush. Show all posts
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Kill, Cut, Scalp
Buildings crumbled to rubble. Oceans flooded the streets. Volcanoes burned this once great Earth. Lightning flashed in the gray skies. And who did the people of Earth have to thank for all of this? Their new master, the necromancer Dark-Law. Those who agreed to Dark-Law’s leadership survived long enough to live as slaves. Those who didn’t were tortured with spikes and fire or decapitated with a skeletal minion’s energy saber. Dystopia was an overused word to describe situations such as this. Hellish nightmare would have been more appropriate. The worst part about this? Nobody was powerful enough to slay this sorcerer and restore peace to this destructive landscape.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
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