The Gunman Is Always Right

VERSE 1

A dangerous resolution, it’s just an illusion

The gunman won’t agree to a peaceful solution

Bullets equal power and might makes right

Rifle’s locked and loaded, don’t put up a fight

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 2

His newfound hostages are now his disciples

He’s got a god complex, he’ll be in charge for a while

He makes them sing hymns through their tape gags

Acolytes burning candles for the guy with clips and mags

He could write a bible with the blood of his rivals

That he nailed to a cross in a Jesus Christ style

He could go anywhere and make it his church

Hellfire and gun powder will equally burn

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 3

His rifle has jammed, it refuses to click

So the brainwashed flock kick him in the dick

Punch him in the face until it’s blood he tastes

It ain’t the blood of Christ, it’s dripping with haste

Kick him in the ribs until every bone splits

Kick him in the ass, he’s got never-ending shits

The power dynamic is once again balanced

It’s only fair that the victims get their share

 

CHORUS 2

They said, “You ain’t our god

You’re just a fraud

We’re always right”

They said, “You’re off to jail

The sirens wail

We’re always right”

Stalking Is Not the Answer

I haven’t watched WWE since November of 2018, when they put on that horrible episode of Monday Night Raw where Drake Maverick peed on Bobby Roode’s robe. But I still like to stay in the loop via podcasts and You Tube channels. I sincerely hope Sonya Deville’s story gets the appropriate amount of coverage outside of the wrestling bubble. A few weeks ago, a disgusting bastard by the name of Phillip Thomas attempted to kidnap Sonya in her Lutz, Florida home. For years he had sent her creepy messages on social media that were of the lovey-dovey variety mixed with suicidal threats and mentions of wanting to murder her family. So what does he do to satisfy his romantic urges? In addition to sending the freaky messages, he showed up to her house one night carrying a knife, pepper spray, duct tape, zip ties, and god knows what else. He planned on kidnapping Sonya Deville, but she got the hell out of there and the police promptly arrested Phillip Thomas with a judge denying him bail.

Now…there are many ways in which you can show your appreciation for your favorite celebrities. Stalking and attempting to kidnap them is not one of them! Forgetting the fact that Sonya Deville is openly lesbian and therefore isn’t interested in men anyways, Phillip Thomas had no fucking chance with her by virtue of his creepy online behavior. He has even less of a chance with her now that he attempted to kidnap her. Haven’t you learned anything from being sickened while watching 365 Days? That Stockholm Syndrome fantasy shit doesn’t work! When Phillip Thomas showed up at Sonya Deville’s home with weapons and bondage equipment, she didn’t have stars in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was fucking terrified, as well she should be!

Having romantic feelings for a celebrity is nothing new to the world. It’s a relationship that could never work due to the imbalance of power, but we like to have fantasies anyways, because these fantasies make our hearts flutter and they give us extra pep in our step. We form parasocial relationships with the celebrities we love. Maybe the celebrity gives us roses. Maybe they squeeze our shoulders. Maybe they let us cradle our heads in their laps while they stroke our hair. But once the fantasy wears off, you begin to realize the impossibility of the fantasy and it depresses the shit out of you. You invested so much time and energy into this fantasy that when the rug gets pulled out from underneath, you’ve got nothing left but sadness. If you feel like your celebrity crushes are interfering with your wellbeing, talk to somebody. Anybody. See a counselor. Confide in family and friends.

This phenomenon was especially true for me when I studied at Western Washington University from 2007 to 2009. I was a socially awkward dweeb who had very little in the way of human interaction. So what did I do? I formed a parasocial relationship with Tarja Turunen, the former lead singer of Nightwish. Her lovely raven hair, her milky white skin, her cherry red lips, and that singing voice of an angel, oh my god, she was so beautiful to me. My heart had the singing voice of an angel every time I laid eyes on her. But when I cycled through my head all the loving ways we could interact, I quickly realized that I was still alone at WWU despite having a strong imagination. I had nothing but my fantasies. Fantasies are great, but they’re not tangible and don’t amount to anything in real life. But did I threaten to kidnap Tarja Turunen? Did I threaten to kill her husband Marcelo Cabuli? Did I show up to her home in Finland with duct tape and a hunting knife? Fuck no! That would be horrifying! If you claim to love someone as much as you do, you don’t show your love by threatening to slash them if they don’t have sex with you. That’s not love. That’s violence. In a real relationship, that’s domestic abuse and it would be grounds for not only divorce, but prison time.

Sonya Deville is a beautiful woman. She’s a brilliant character on WWE television. She’s got mixed-martial arts skills for days that will remind the audience of Wonder Woman. You want to know what she isn’t? Yours to kidnap and have sex with! You as a fan are not owed anything! You’re not owed sex and romance! If you want those things, you have to earn them by being sweet and empathetic and even then if the woman says no, you ought to listen. Sonya Deville is not going to say yes to someone who sends her disgusting messages on Twitter threatening to hurt her if she doesn’t give into him. I thought this point was made clear when pretty much every news outlet on the planet dissected Incel culture with a scalpel. We’re supposed to be past this shit. But people like Phillip Thomas didn’t get the message. Apparently, neither did the other Twitter trolls who sent Sonya Deville messages like, “I’m going to finish what Phillip started” and “My knife is bigger than Phillip’s.” How romantic! What a bunch of charming motherfuckers! Breakfast, meet floor!

Back at Summer Slam, Sonya Deville was written off of WWE television when she lost a No Disqualification Loser Leaves Town match to longtime rival Mandy Rose. She didn’t actually lose her job. It’s just a storyline excuse for her to sort things out legally and emotionally before getting back in the ring. She’ll be back one day. I’d like to think she’ll be back stronger than ever, but that’s not how psychological trauma works. That shit eats away at you like a cancer. There are triggers that will set you off. There are nightmares. There are moments where you’ll lose focus of what you’re doing, which isn’t an ideal scenario in a profession where you slam people on their backs for a living. Thanks a lot, Phillip Thomas. You traumatized Sonya Deville for life, all because you wanted a romance that never could have happened, lesbian status or not. That’s not love. That’s psychosis. Get some fucking help!

Being a celebrity of any kind, whether you’re an attractive woman or otherwise, will open up the floodgates for stalking and harassment. This shit has been going on long before the internet was a thing. So what should you do if you find yourself in this situation? Do you hire security guards? Do you buy a weapon? Do you move to another home? Do you stay off of social media? Do you get a restraining order? There’s no one-size-fits-all solution to this problem. Sometimes it’s multiple things at once, which is something the celebrity in question will consider as anxiety floods their minds with all the possibilities of scenarios. Hell, you don’t have to be a celebrity to experience stalking. The reason for stalking doesn’t even have to be romantic or sexual. There are some sick pieces of shit out there and the sooner they’re locked up, the better off we’ll all be. If you find yourself obsessing over someone, don’t become the next Phillip Thomas. Get help. Reach out to someone you trust. That’s my public service announcement for the day. Stalking is not the answer. It never is.

"Basil of Baker Street" by Eve Titus

BOOK TITLE: Basil of Baker Street
AUTHOR: Eve Titus
YEAR: 1958
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Children’s Mystery
GRADE: Fail

Listen…I know this is a children’s book and that certain liberties can be taken when it comes to judging the audience’s wisdom. Eve Titus didn’t have to be the second coming of David Baldacci, C.J. Box, or Brett Battles. But this kind of leniency is no excuse for insulting the intelligence of the readers. Yes, I know: Basil is a detective mouse and he’s modeled after Sherlock Holmes. To his credit, he’s got some serious deduction skills. Dawson, his assistant, could definitely learn a lot from him. While Basil does pick up on subtle clues that blend too easily in the background, there are some pieces of this mystery that aren’t so subtle, hence the insult to the readers’ intelligence and wisdom.

For example, let’s first look at the name of the kidnappers in question: The Terrible Three. Right off the bat, you know they’re the main villains of the story. And that’s really all the depth they’re given as characters. I understand that this is a short book and character development can’t always be achieved with so few pages. But please…at least TRY to make an effort at subterfuge. When we finally meet The Terrible Three, their villainy is never in doubt because of how angry and vulgar they act around other mice. If it wasn’t for the fact that their twin girl victims were missing, they could be arrested right away and there wouldn’t be a need for a story. There might not even be a kidnapping, the villains are so obvious.

And if the villains are going to send a messenger to do their dirty work, they might want to consider somebody who isn’t a nervous wreck all the time. Shuffling feet, shifting eyes, short answers, these are the telltale signs that they extorted Hawkins the sailor into delivering the ransom note. No subtlety there. In fact, I dare say that it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to figure that out, much less a mouse that learns everything he knows from him.

Oh, I almost forgot about Basil. Never forget that he’s the world’s greatest mouse detective. If you need a reminder, the opening sentences of the book will tell you. Not show you. Tell you. That alone should be suspicious to a wise reader. You know what else would be? Basil being a complete Gary-Stu. He’s perfect in every way, not counting his horrendous violin playing. He only shows vulnerability once in this novella and that’s when he provokes The Terrible Three and a pack of minions into brawling with him and Dawson. Anybody want to guess how that fight turns out? Let’s see: two scrawny detectives versus a bunch of muscle-bound bruisers. Maybe Basil isn’t the brightest bulb in the drawer after all. But it was all part of a plan. Good for him. I’d hate to see what would happen if he botched that plan or if the Terrible Three and their minions were a little TOO aggressive in the brawl.

I guess I shouldn’t have had high hopes for this novella to begin with. Yes, it became a Disney movie. Yes, it has cute animals as characters instead of humans. But the writing is just plain insulting. I’m not even worried about the “wild Indian” and “good housewife” stereotypes, because those are nothing compared to a badly-written story. I can’t give this book anything more than two stars out of five. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t. Sorry!

A Little Bit Off

Dr. Esther Villalobos hoped that the downpour outside would be sufficient in calming down her next patient. If not that, then the pictures of fluffy felines mounted on her walls. And if not that, then the musty smell of old books sitting on her shelves. Then again, perhaps the little things about her cozy office were just that: little. She knew full well that she had to be as delicate as possible when handling her newest client.

She remembered watching the media circus unfold on TV like it was yesterday. Every news anchor seemed to have an obsessive fixation on the demonic serial killer Lucy Butler. How she seduced and brainwashed her brilliant-minded abductees into believing their own mediocrity. How she played “Love Is Blue” by Paul Mauriat over and over again to drive that point home.

But the biggest thing that made Esther squirm in her chair all those days ago was how the media and subsequent viewers sexualized the hell out of Lucy Butler, whether it was her natural beauty, her alluring methods, or just because hybristophilia was still a thing in this day and age. People said the exact same things about Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer, so maybe it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise. Still, Esther shivered at the thought of romanticizing such a brutal killer.

“I could definitely use a cigarette right now,” said Esther to nobody in particular as she sat in her swivel chair tapping her foot.

The nicotine would have to wait a little longer. There was a halfhearted knock on her door and she said, “Come in”, which the visitor did. Sure enough, the centerpiece of these Lucy Butler stories, Landon Bryce, skulked through the office door looking like hell. His blondish brown hair looked like it hadn’t been combed since god knows when. His Linkin Park T-shirt and blue jeans were covered in what looked like corn chip dust. Hopefully, that wasn’t all he was eating lately, but Esther wasn’t banking on any other answers. After all, the life in his once pretty eyes had been completely drained and his face sagged to show off his lack of zest for life.

Landon’s most noticeable feature, however, was the bruises and cuts all over his bony hands. Esther was no detective, but she had to assume those bloody scrapes had something to do with him getting in fights as recently as a few days ago. He didn’t seem to notice his own damage as he just stood in the doorway shivering lightly and staring at nothing like the zombie he was.

“Good morning,” said Esther in a soft, benign voice that didn’t betray the fact that she was a smoker. “You must be Landon. I’m Dr. Esther Villalobos. Please, make yourself at home. There’s a seat on the leather couch with your name on it.” He was in no hurry to lay down on the couch, but once he did, he found the comfort he needed to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm whatever chaos was going on his mind. He still trembled, though. “Before we begin, do you want some Vaseline for your hands? They look like they could use some TLC.”

“Huh?” Landon just now noticed the scars on his hand and languidly answered, “Sure, okay.”

Esther pulled a bottle of Vaseline out of her desk drawers and squirted a few drops into her patient’s palms. Landon hissed in pain as he rubbed the grease all over his wounds, but by the time he was finished massaging his hands, they already looked a little bit better than they did before. Any improvement was a victory in Esther’s mind.

As Landon laid on the couch allowing his anxiety to wash over him, Esther sat in her swivel chair with a clipboard in her lap and a look of concern on her middle-aged face. Her black hair showed a few streaks of white and her sweater and slacks attire showed off her advanced age even more, which hopefully translated into wisdom for Landon and therefore into somebody he could trust with his woes.

Esther adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses. “So, Landon…we talked on the phone before we made this appointment official. We bounced ideas back and forth about what we wanted to discuss. From what I can tell, you have no desire to relive your captivity, so that’s not a topic I’m going to dig too deeply into. Besides, anybody within the sound of the media’s voice knows everything they need to know about Lucy Butler’s disgusting behavior. I’m more interested in what life has been like after Agent Frank Black rescued you and the other boys. So…I guess my first question to you is…how are you feeling right now? Take as much time as you need to answer that question. Go into as much or as little detail as you’d like. This is your session, Landon. You make the rules.”

Silence hung between them with the exception of Landon’s deep breathing exercises, though comforting to anybody else, seemed to have very little effect in steadying his nerves. He had been through a lot, it seemed. “Well, Esther, I don’t think anybody really cares how I’m feeling right now…But to answer your question…I’m exhausted…I’m tired of fighting my own mind…But I know that if I fall asleep…I’m just going to have another nightmare about that woman…Every time she kissed me…Every time she felt me up…The same goddamn song over and over again…”

He sniffed a few times in between sentences and wiped a small tear from his eye before continuing. “You know…I haven’t told anybody this…But since we’re in therapy…Sometimes…after a really bad nightmare…where she gets to do whatever she wants with me…I lock the door to my bedroom…draw the curtains…take my pants off…and…and…” He wiped another tear from his eye.

Esther filled in the blanks of his statement right away and nodded. “I see.” She wrote down on her clipboard that in addition to PTSD, he appeared to be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, hence the masturbation.

He continued. “I know I shouldn’t be doing that to her…I hated being in her company…Every time I do it…I hate myself for it…I keep wondering…if the ceiling fan above my room will be enough to support my weight…”

“Landon…listen to me. I know suicide sounds tempting, but it’s not the solution to your problems. You came here today because you wanted relief from it all. You secretly want to live again. There’s not much life in your eyes right now…but I can see just enough that you care deeply about your recovery. Please reconsider.”

“I sometimes wish the kids and teachers at my school would feel the same way…When I was rescued…I went straight back to that…school…if you can call it that…I wasn’t ready…I never was…but I didn’t speak up…I was expected to just soldier on like nothing happened…I wasn’t allowed to ask the world to slow down for me…And right off the bat…everybody noticed…Everybody knew…and they teased me for it…Called me every homophobic slur in the book…said I should have liked being with such a sexy woman…”

“As if being beautiful excuses her appalling actions.”

“Exactly…You know…sometimes…I wish I was ugly…I wish I had a face full of pimples…a three hundred pound beer gut…not a hair on my head…That way…nobody would try to seduce me again…Nobody would tell me they loved me without really meaning it…”

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for a moment. There’s something you need to know about that.” Esther sighed and removed her glasses. “How attractive you are has nothing to do with whether or not you were molested. Do you understand? Seduction is just one of thousands of ways in which someone can hurt you. If someone wants to hurt you badly enough, they’ll find a way to do it. It’s not you…it’s them.”

Landon sniffled again. “Try telling that to my ex-girlfriend.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure I’d call her that, but…after I was rescued…we went on one date together…When she asked me out…I was having a particularly shitty day…I leaned against my locker at school just waiting for the waterworks to come out…She could have greeted me any way she wanted to…She could have said hi…She could have smiled at me…You know what she did?...She ran her nails down my back…On one hand it felt like a nice massage…On the other…it reminded me too much of Lucy…and…I ended up saying yes to her….Like I had something to prove to all of my bullies…Like I wanted to dispel all of those times someone called me a faggot or a queer…She said she liked me for my…’experience’…I was disgusted with her saying that…and I said yes to her anyways…”

Esther took more notes on her clipboard after putting her glasses back on. “How did your date go?”

“About as well as you’d expect it to…I was all numbed out…I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying…or what the plot of the movie was…Hell, I couldn’t even concentrate in school…That’s why my grades look like shit…I couldn’t even tell if me and my girl had a good time…But when it was over…and she tried to kiss me goodnight…I freaked out…Her lips…they tasted like Lucy’s…All of the sudden…I wasn’t seeing a blond sweetheart anymore…I saw Lucy…I ran away from her screaming…”

“She doesn’t sound like a very considerate girlfriend to me.”

“That’s why we never saw each other again…But at school…the gay slurs…the rape jokes…the pushes…the shoves…they started getting worse…I was constantly throwing up in the bathroom…I was crying my eyes out when nobody would see me…I would sometimes try to leave school on my own…But it was never enough…You want to know why I have scars on my hands?...Because one day…after one of those kids caught me crying…they laughed at me…and laughed…and laughed…so I did the one thing I knew would get me kicked out of school forever…I beat their asses…I punched them so hard their noses broke…their teeth crunched…I kneed them in the balls…kicked them in the ribs…I just kept seeing red…and it was glorious…It gave me the relief I needed…So beautiful…” He punctuated that last line with a smile, giving Esther her own form of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for now. You look like you need to stop as well.” Esther took her glasses off again and folded her hands in her lap. “You sound like you’re going through some heavy mental trauma. The lack of concentration, the nightmares, the vomiting, the lack of eating…you can’t live like this any longer. Something has to be done about it. I’m not going to lie to you, Landon. The road to recovery is going to be a long one. It’s going to be tiring. And it’s also going to depend on how far you’re willing to go to achieve your healing. Tell me, Landon…” She leaned in closer. “What are you willing to do to make this pain go away?”

The tears came more frequently and Landon gave up on trying to stop them. “Anything…anything at all…”

“Anything?”

“Yes, damn it, anything!”

“Good…because what I’m about to suggest to you…is so illegal…that you can’t tell anybody about it. You can only do it while you’re in my office. If I get caught administering this to you, I could not only go to jail, but I’d never be able to practice medicine again, which you in turn won’t find your healing. Are you ready?”

“I’m sick of crying all the time…I want to eat food that doesn’t taste like my kidnapper…You’re damn right I’m ready…”

Esther pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked a bottom drawer before pulling out a vaping pen and handing it to Landon.

“Is this what I think it is?...You want me to smoke marijuana?...I can’t…No, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I was already in one prison when Lucy kidnapped me…I don’t need to go to another for smoking pot…”

Esther leaned in closer. “Landon…you said you would do anything for relief. You’re not going to find that relief in Xanax or Sertraline. Marijuana has no side effects. It’s not a codependency. It actually does its job in a quick amount of time. Landon, you’re already in a prison. You’re a prisoner of your own mind. And that vaping pen? That’s the key to your cell.”

“Pfft…Yeah right…”

Esther shook her head. “What happened to you, Landon? Before you were kidnapped and molested, you raged against the machine. You told your teachers to shove those C+’s up their asses. Where’s that rebellious spirit?”

“It’s gone, Esther. Every time I rebel against the system, somebody gets hurt.”

“Doing nothing will get even more people hurt.”

“Maybe Lucy was right all along. Maybe mediocrity is all I’ve got left. Maybe those C+’s on my report card…”

“Enough!” Esther interrupted. “Those C+’s and D-‘s? They’re just letters on a piece of paper, no different from the other letters. They don’t determine your self worth. Demonic serial killers with a fetish for bad music don’t determine your self worth either. You do. You know you weren’t destined for a boring life. You know deep in your heart you want to save the world. The more you fight your rebellious urges, the stronger they become. You may not know it right now, but the world needs your voice.”

“Tell that to the bullies at my…”

“I’m telling you!” Esther snapped. After watching Landon jump out of his skin, she apologized and fixed her own clothing. “Landon…Lucy Butler doesn’t love you…and those kids at school? They don’t matter. You do. Only you get to define what love means to you. Kidnapping someone and sexually torturing someone isn’t love. Love is free and kind, not forceful and toxic. You know this in your heart. You still have a heart after all this time. That’s why you’re here, to help yourself realize it. Please, Landon…you are taking a big risk by smoking that pen…but no amount of greatness comes without danger…You…were destined for greatness…”

Judging from the singular tear drops running down Landon’s face, Esther had hope that she had gotten through to him. And then…he took a puff of the pen. But when he blew out the vapors, he coughed like he was losing a lung. Esther said, “Sorry. Takes some getting used to.”

But once the coughing was over, so was the trembling. The tears on his cheeks were replaced by gentle redness. His once glassy eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and relaxed instead of labored and intensive. He seemed to sink to the leather couch in an attempt to fall asleep and hopefully have a dream about something other than molestation.

Esther smiled. “I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing, Landon. I already have the answer.”

“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Pfft…Who gives a shit?”

“My next patient won’t be here for a long time. You can take a quick nap if you’d like. I won’t mind.”

Landon was already one step ahead of her, breathing gently and allowing his head to roll over in relaxation. If he did give a response, it was jumbled and incoherent. Esther patted him on the head before sneaking out of her office and shushing her secretary.

By the time Esther went outside, the downpour had stopped and the sun was out. But for how long? Long enough for Esther to finally smoke that cigarette she earned. She pulled out a Camel and lit it with a match before taking a few drags. Like Landon with his vaping pen, Esther too relaxed as she leaned against the brick building. But at the same time, she looked at her cigarette with mild disgust.

“Don’t ever smoke these, Landon. We need that voice of yours to be as loud as possible…”

Higher Ground X System of a Down: Prison Song

***HIGHER GROUND X SYSTEM OF A DOWN: PRISON SONG***

Two years ago, I went down a research rabbit hole and found an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View”. It was that episode plus an Otherwise song that was the launching point for a novel I’m currently editing called “Beautiful Monster”. Two years later, I went down another research rabbit hole and found a TV show that could very well tell Millennium to hold their beers. Take my hand; we’re going on a journey today!

It all began with a Star Wars meme that I got curious about: Anakin Skywalker saying “I don’t like sand.” He complains about how coarse and rough it is and then tells his wife Padme that unlike sand, she’s smooth and soft. It’s easy to blame Hayden Christiansen for that hokey delivery, but to be fair to him, nobody could make that dialogue sound good. Not Samuel L. Jackson. Not Michael Chiklis. Not Walton Goggins. And sure as shit not Hayden Christiansen.

So one thing led to another and I went to Hayden Christiansen’s Wikipedia page. Sure enough, one of the roles he’s famous for was Scott Barringer in the 2000 teen drama Higher Ground. And in this 2000 teen drama, Scott was a star athlete and one hell of a piano player. And then his parents divorced and his father got remarried to a woman named Elaine, who was closer to Scott’s age. Elaine started sexually abusing Scott to where his trauma could only be numbed with drugs and alcohol. His addictions got so bad that he was sent away to a “therapy school” to deal with his problems, never once addressing the root of it all, Elaine raping him.

Now, I’ve never actually watched a single episode of this show. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for it. But I saw the phrase “therapy school” and wondered just what that entailed. So the rabbit hole continues. Turns out there’s no therapy to be found in these places. Therapy school is just a PC term for “child prison”. Of course, if they started calling themselves child prisons, you know how many parents would fork over their children to them? Lots of them, because Scott’s parents don’t have any fucking principles. If they did, there would be no sexual assault and therefore no TV show.

But what exactly goes on in a “therapy school” a.k.a. “child prison”? Well, the reason why I’m calling it a prison is because therapy schools have a lot in common with establishments that openly admit to being prisons. You can’t leave whenever you’d like, you lose all of your constitutional rights, the overseers beat your ass and scream at you for no reason, and your individuality is long gone, never to be seen again. I’m not sure if this actually goes on in Higher Ground, but from what I’ve researched about therapy schools, it’s probably a safe bet. Oh, and one more thing: therapy schools get richer by keeping kids locked up and abused. They’re for-profit, just like real prisons.

One of the many behavioral modification exercises the therapy schools like to push on their patients, I mean, inmates is…wilderness training. It’s basically survivalism and it doesn’t actually cure bad behavior. You know what the counselors, I mean, prison guards really like about wilderness therapy? No cameras. No witness. Not a goddamn thing for miles. The prison guards already get away with abuse on a regular basis, but out in the wilderness, they’ve got that extra insurance.

You know what else they like to do? Hire “teen escort services”. That already sounds suspicious because the word “escort” is associated with the GFE (Girlfriend Experience). Putting the word “teen” next to it doesn’t sound any better. But that’s not where this story ends. A teen escort service is where a bunch of guys kidnap the child in the middle of the night and forcibly bring him or her to the therapy school. No due process, no right to legal representation, just a traumatic experience that will haunt the kids forever and ever. How the fuck is this legal?!

You’d think with all these ass beatings and traumatizing scream sessions going on, somebody would step in and shut down these child prisons or at least try to sue the shit out of them for millions of dollars. But this is America; capitalism and the almighty dollar come first. Therapy schools, just like for-profit prisons, are a business and business is booming. Besides, with all the money they make, they could very easily win a court case against them with the best lawyers money can buy. If suing prisons was really that easy…well, you get the picture by now.

So…in the same way that Beautiful Monster was a throwback to Millennium, its potential sequel, Prison Song, will be a throwback to Higher Ground. I haven’t figured out the exact circumstances of the therapy schools nor have I outlined the damn story. Shit, I’ve only edited three chapters of Beautiful Monster thus far, so I don’t have a clear picture of what these new changes will do for the sequel. But just like Beautiful Monster, Prison Song will be named after an actual piece of music, that being Prison Song by System of a Down. You want some lyrics? You want some protest music? Here you go:

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“They’re trying to build a prison. Following the rights movements, you clamped down with your iron fists. Drugs became conveniently available for all the kids. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Nearly two million people are incarcerated in the prison system in the US. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. Minor drug offenders fill your prisons, you don’t even flinch. All our taxes paying for your wars against the new non-rich. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. The percentage of Americans in the prison system has doubled since 1985. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. All research and successful drug policies show that treatment should be increased and law enforcement decreased while abolishing mandatory minimum sentences. Utilizing drugs to pay for secret wars around the world. Drugs are now your global policy, now you police the globe. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Drug money is used to rig elections and train brutal corporate-sponsored dictators around the world. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me.”

-System of a Down singing “Prison Song”-

"Happy!" by Grant Morrison

BOOK TITLE: Happy!

AUTHOR: Grant Morrison

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Crime Fiction

GRADE: Pass

Disgraced detective turned contract killer Nick Sax completes an assassination of mob boss Mr. Blue’s sons. During the final moments of the confrontation, one of the sons tells Nick the password to a bank account full of laundered mafia money. Just as Mr. Blue’s henchmen are about to extract the password from him via torture, an imaginary blue unicorn haunts Nick’s psyche and agrees to help him out dangerous situations on the condition that he rescues small children from a porn studio. Will Nick Sax become the hero he was meant to be or will he selfishly reject Happy the horse every step of the way?

This graphic novel is incontrovertible proof that not all protagonists have to be saints in order for the audience to cheer for them. Nick Sax is a vulgar, selfish, negative alcoholic who would rather waste his life away than use it for good causes. Seeing as how this is a redemption story, Happy the Horse has a long way to go in order to convince Nick to see the light. The two of them get into schizophrenic arguments that make outsiders feel uncomfortable and downright frightened to death. When the big payoff finally happens, it feels right. Some would criticize Nick’s newfound reasons as being selfish yet again, but that just goes to show how stonehearted a broken man like him can be. To me, that’s gritty and realistic, which is what all detective novels should be like, imaginary horse aside.

Speaking of Happy, I enjoyed his characterization as well. He’s a goofy, lovable, lighthearted ray of sunshine in a world covered in darkness and beer. Sometimes the reader needs a break from all of the R-rated horror and Happy will provide that relief through his personality alone. In truth, Happy is the last line of defense for childhood innocence since he was one of the kidnapped children’s imaginary friend at one point. Once he’s gone, the whole world turns to poison. Imagination is the most powerful tool we have and it took a lot of it to incorporate Happy’s character in a believable way. Good job in that department, Mr. Morrison!

I don’t have many complaints, but I do have one about Nick Sax’s back story as to why he acts as coldly as he does. While it is a tragic story about his family that would make any reader tear up, it seems forced and cliché, like it somehow excuses Nick’s behavior by virtue of its mere existence in the storyline. I’ve seen this trope used many times before and it only numbs me to the real tragedy of the much larger story. But as I said, this is a minor complaint since it didn’t actually derail the story in any way. It’s just a flaw that needed to be pointed out, that’s all.

All in all, this was a fun little graphic novel and I can easily see why Syfy would want to make a TV show out of it. Sometimes it’s fun to root for the antihero, especially when a magical flying horse evens him out. That’s the trick with the antihero: he can’t be worse than the villains he’s fighting. Otherwise, there’s nothing to believe in. Nick Sax’s redemption story is believable to me and that’s why I’m giving this graphic novel a passing grade despite his clichéd character history.

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”-

Game Night

MOVIE TITLE: Game Night

DIRECTORS: John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Black Comedy

RATING: R for violence, language, and suggestive dialogue

GRADE: Pass

Competitive gamers Max and Annie Davis have the chance to upstage Max’s obnoxiously successful brother Brooks when he sets up a live action murder mystery game with a Stingray Corvette at stake. As part of this role-play, masked criminals raid Brooks’s house and kidnap him, though the fight scene looks a little too realistic for everybody’s tastes. The deeper Max, Annie, and their gamer friends dig into this mystery, the more they realize that it wasn’t a role-play and that Brooks’s life really is in danger.

I know that this is supposed to be a goofy comedy movie, but it could easily pass for the thriller genre due to how well-constructed the mystery is. Every time you think Max and his friends have the answers, there’s always another swerve to cut them off at the knees. There are no easy solutions and not everything is part of a role-playing game. That’s the mark of a good thriller: it keeps you guessing until the climax. You don’t know how, you don’t know why, you don’t know who, but if you pay close attention and wait until the end, it’ll all become as clear as day.

And then you have the various subplots within the main one which make hopping between characters an interesting way of storytelling. Max and Annie are trying to have a baby, but Max’s sperm count is low because he’s stressed out by his brother. A black couple named Kevin and Michelle keep arguing over which celebrity Michelle allegedly cheated on Kevin with. Ryan and Sarah argue over Ryan’s blatant stupidity and ignorance while Sarah comes off as a posh and intelligent Irishwoman. Gary is a socially awkward cop who wants to join game night, but keeps getting ignored due to his weirdness. And then we find out that Brooks isn’t really who he says he is, though I’ll say no more than that, because I don’t want to give away spoilers. Bouncing from subplot to subplot keeps the movie from getting monotonous, though it’s hard for monotony to happen when there’s so much comedy going on all at once.

Yes, let us never forget that this is a comedy first and foremost. I watched this movie with my older brother and we kept guessing who the celebrity was that Michelle slept with. We were hoping and praying that it wasn’t Bill Cosby. Oh dear. Speaking of Michelle and Kevin, they received a clue from the mystery role-play where they’re looking for an object that holds whiteness together. Kevin’s first guess was Donald Trump, but it was actually a stapler since paper is white. And finally, another favorite part of mine is when Max’s bullet wound drips all over Gary’s dog, carpet, and shrine of his ex-wife. Yes, I said it: there was blood all over a shrine of Gary’s ex-wife. Let that sink in for a moment. I’d tell you more funny parts, but I’d rather you watch the movie yourselves.

If you’re in the mood for some good wholesome fun, watch Game Night, though I don’t really think wholesome is the word to describe it. It’s dirty, it’s dark, it’s funny as hell, and it’ll make you want to have a game night of your own, though hopefully yours won’t involve kidnapping and murder. Maybe you should just stick to Scrabble. They don’t kill people in Scrabble…as far as I know. A passing grade goes to this hilarious black comedy!

Terrible Person

CHORUS 1

If you excuse torture and abuse

If you condone picking at their bones

If human happiness makes you irksome

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

VERSE 1

Call it tough love, call it what you will

You still make the public collectively ill

Beatings, insults, hatred, and more

Rated NC-17 for violence and gore

You’re not rehab, you’re a terrorist cell

You’re not a doctor, but a cultist from hell

You’re not a savior, you’re a fucking bully

You’re not a god, you’re fucking unholy

CHORUS 2

If you enjoy the times when you destroy

If you take their brains and drive them insane

If you take part in making teens feel worthless

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

VERSE 2

You have no authority to enforce conformity

You have no balls to face the wrath of the majority

You have no business calling yourself an orderly

You have no right to smile ever so cordially

You have the right to watch your empires burn

You have the right to watch your victims unlearn

You have the right to fork over the Benjamins

‘Cause there’s no denying the courtroom evidence

BRIDGE

Isolation is mutilation!

Condemnation is devastation!

Victimization is desecration!

Retaliation is our salvation!

VERSE 3

Say goodbye to the white padded walls

Say goodbye to the screams in the halls

Say goodbye to your dystopian future

Say goodbye, you’re a fucking loser

CHORUS 3

If your methods count as weapons

If your beatings count as feedings

If your message becomes worthless

Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

Congratulations, you’re a piece of shit!

Congratulations, you’re a perfect fit!

For a prison camp not unlike your own!

Congratulations, you’re fucking boned!

Millennium X Otherwise: Beautiful Monster

***MILLENNIUM X OTHERWISE: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Raise your hand if you at least have a surface level understanding of the 1990’s horror TV series Millennium. I didn’t watch it on a regular basis when it was on TV, but there was one episode in particular that disturbed the shit out of me. The title is creepy on its own: “A Room with No View”. Gee, I wonder what kind of room they could be referring to. No windows, no balcony, just walls and darkness. This wouldn’t be the kind of room where kidnapping victims are kept, would it?

After seeing news stories on TV about pedophiles kidnapping children and keeping them in captivity for decades at a time, you’d be right to think that kidnapping is a disgusting topic to approach. If a creepy guy kidnaps an innocent girl, there’d be no debate at all as to how sickening that is. We’d all be clamoring for the creepy guy to be locked up. But in “A Room with No View”, the gender roles are reversed. A drop-dead gorgeous young woman named Lucy Butler kidnaps a high school student named Landon Bryce.

The minute Lucy has Landon under lock and key, she goes right into lovey-dovey mode. She tells him she loves him, she cuddles with him, and “comforts” him after he tries to get away and is recaptured. Attempting to escape the compound and getting caught again is something that happens over and over in this episode. And who’s there to give him love and sugar when he returns? Lucy Butler, of course. Oh, and Landon also is told to believe that he’s mediocre and ordinary. So when the FBI eventually raids the compound and rescues him, not only does he have sexual trauma to deal with, but also self-esteem issues. How nice.

If a story is creepy on its own and that’s the only emotion it dabbles with, then we’ve got an open and shut case no doubt. But then this episode of Millennium fuses the creepy feeling with sexual desires and lovey-dovey romance. That makes the creepy feeling even worse. The more emotions you can mix with creepiness, the more intense said creepiness becomes. Landon Bryce is probably going to be fucked up for the rest of the Millennium canon. Society loves to judge male victims as “pussies” and “fags”, so it’s not like he can get away from that stigma after becoming free from the femme fatale known as Lucy Butler.

When I first saw this episode back in the late 90’s, the timing couldn’t have been worse for me. I was already a middle school kid who was turning down dates with girls left and right because I was in constant fear that they’d screw me over in court. My own father had divorce issues of his own and was paying out the ass for it, so that’s where my irrational fear of romance came from. And now I see this episode of Millennium and think, “Is that what relationships are really all about?!” Obviously, the answer is no. But at the time, it seemed reasonable to me.

I wrote this blog entry for two reasons and not one of them is so that Men’s Rights Activists could rejoice. I have lots of love for feminist culture and know full well that there’s only one Lucy Butler in the world (on top of that, she’s not even real!). Would you like to know what my two reasons really are? One of them is to announce that I’ve come up with a fantasy novel idea based on the motif of women kidnapping men. The other reason is because I’ve found the perfect song to go with this novel (should I decide to write it). It’s called “Beautiful Monster” by Otherwise and it’s my current favorite song from that hard rock band from Vegas. If you read the lyrics to the song, you’ll find out just how much Lucy Butler and the villainess of my own novel idea have in common with Otherwise’s beautiful monster in question.

VERSE 1

Something about the way that she makes me hate myself

I could run away but I don't want no one else

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

CHORUS

Looking like an angel so divine

You can see the devil in those eyes

She's a monster by my side baby

Taking me six feet down tonight

Cause dancing with the devil gets me high

She's a monster, a beautiful monster

(A beautiful monster)

VERSE 2

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

CHORUS

Looking like an angel so divine

You can see the devil in those eyes

She's a monster by my side baby

Taking me six feet down tonight

Cause dancing with the devil gets me high

She's a monster, a beautiful monster

BRIDGE

A beautiful monster

I don't want to be saved

A beautiful monster

I don't want to be saved

A beautiful monster

I don't want to be saved

A beautiful monster

I don't want to be saved

CHORUS

Looking like an angel so divine

You can see the devil in those eyes

She's a monster by my side baby

Taking me six feet down tonight

Cause dancing with the devil gets me high

She's a monster, a beautiful monster

A beautiful monster

Are you scared yet? You should be! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

LEMONHEAD: We’re all going to crash and burn because of you! Amy’s not even that hot, man!

SHANE VENDRELL: Oh, thanks for the support, asshole!

-The Shield-

"Child of the Night Guild" by Andy Peloquin

BOOK TITLE: Child of the Night Guild

AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Dystopian Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

When Viola’s father can’t pay off his loan from the Night Guild, he has no choice but to sell her into servitude. Under the tutelage of the insanely cruel Master Velvet, Viola is put through a battery of painful and exhausting tests under the threat of being murdered, starved, and/or tortured for failure. She, along with eleven other child students, are given new names and are told to forget everything about their past, which they do. In this dark fantasy hybrid of Pink Floyd the Wall and Full Metal Jacket, Viola, now named Seven, has only one goal if she wants to see the light of day ever again: survive. There is no turning back for her or anybody else in the Night Guild. They live and die by their abilities to become convincing thieves, an occupation which will repay their families’ debts.

If you’re looking for a tale of darkness and cruelty that rivals any child kidnapping story you hear about in the news, Child of the Night Guild will tear you to shreds. The harsh treatment of Viola/Seven is so consistent and so heartbreaking that you as the reader are convinced that this story will end on a sour note. While I won’t divulge what happens, you can bet your bottom dollar that this would be a scenario no ordinary person would survive. The students of the Night Guild are insulted, humiliated, starved, slashed, and slapped around as a way of stripping them of their individuality (and quite possibly their sanity). You know deep in your heart that there’s no way out, so there really is no praying for the best, because you’ll expect the worst. If you’re a Pink Floyd fan, then you know there’s a meat grinder waiting for these children at the end of the cookie factory maze.

On a somewhat lighter note, every time I read an Andy Peloquin novel, he comes off as an expert on whatever it is his story entails. In this case, the children are training to be cunning thieves, which requires a great deal of dexterity, cleverness, and thousands of hours of practice. When someone balances across a thin beam, pickpockets an unsuspecting sod, or searches for treasure in the most unlikely of places, you are convinced that these methods are the right way to get the job done. That’s not to say that Andy is an expert thief or a violent sociopath, but it tells you a lot about how much research he put into this novel. Everybody loves an intelligently-written novel and this one is no exception. Andy Peloquin is a scholar in every sense of the word.

Another likeable trait about Mr. Peloquin’s novels is his writing style. You’re not just watching a movie unfold before your eyes; you’re feeling every burning pain that Viola goes through. Whether it’s hunger pains, burning muscles, slashed fingers, or the general anxiety of being put through serious torture, it adds to this scenario of there being no way out for these children. These agonizing descriptions slowly transform Viola into Seven and Seven into the shadowy thief known as Ilanna. Any shred of innocence she once had will be lost because of the pain she feels throughout the story. We as readers get to feel everything. If you want to cry or listen to Linkin Park songs afterwards, I won’t blame you one bit.

For all intents and purposes, this should be the perfect novel for anybody who loves a good dystopian nightmare. For me personally, I love darkness, but I feel like this is too much darkness for me to handle. Maybe I’ve gotten soft and sensitive over the years, but when I read this novel, it reminds me too much of the Jaycee Dugard story on the news. She was kidnapped at the age of eleven and was raped and molested repeatedly by her captor until she was rescued at age of twenty-nine. It might seem like I’m comparing apples to oranges, but that’s just what I think of whenever I see so much darkness in one place. Nevertheless, this book receives a passing grade because it’s that damn good.

Flipped Off

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” asked Mickey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jessica Harley

The similarity between the names Jessica Harley and Jessica Haggar are mind-boggling. Their back stories are similar as well. But I assure you with 100% conviction that Mike Haggar’s daughter from Final Fight was not the inspiration for Jessica Harley, so put away the fan fiction pre-writes for a moment.

Jessica Harley was from a movie script idea that never got off the ground called The Trauma Force. It was detective fiction similar to The Shield, brutality, leather jackets, sex, drugs, violence, and all. Jessica was the wife of lead character Shawn Harley and kidnapped away from him during a drug bust. Mrs. Harley wouldn’t be found until the end of the story, which smells of Final Fight logic, but trust me, it isn’t.

Jessica was the name of my online girlfriend from 2002-2005. Though we never kissed or made love, we were indeed in love with each other. Whoever said teenagers don’t know what love is never felt the magic between me and Jessica. The blood sugar sex magic started when the two of us were role-playing on a Final Fantasy-themed MSN group.

I was the bullheaded knight Sharry Seran and she was Mikoto Tribal from Final Fantasy IX. Our two characters got kidnapped by holier-than-thou paladins and we had to fight our way out together through thick and thin. An in-game marriage proposal was in the works despite the two characters not knowing each other. Fantasy and reality were extremely blurry at this time and we eventually became boyfriend and girlfriend.

The Trauma Force version of Jessica was a manifestation of my online girlfriend at the time. Both were so beautiful and so far away, the latter being for different reasons, obviously. I couldn’t distinguish the difference between losing her to kidnapping and losing her to life progression in another state. Call me needy, but when the real world Jessica didn’t reply to my letters for the longest time, I felt empty and cold. When somebody loses contact with you for a long time, you get worried. When you get worried, you get scared. When you get scared, you get angry at life.

After 2005, I officially recognized our relationship as over due to her not responding for long enough. I wasn’t going to save myself for somebody I couldn’t have. But Jessica Harley, the fictional character she’s based off of, well, I can certainly do a lot with her. Whatever I did with Mrs. Harley, I’d have to do with carefulness. I want to cherish the time we had together and not think bitter thoughts now that it’s over. I still want to use Jessica Harley in a romantic way, but I just don’t know how. Will she and Shawn still be together by the next story’s beginning? Will their story resemble Final Fight or heaven forbid Savages?

Maybe Shawn and Jessica don’t have to fight the world with their fists. Maybe they don’t need conventional weapons like guns or knives. Are there no other props that are more appropriate for a whirlwind romance? How about musical instruments? Nothing says love like a grinding guitar and Meytal Cohen-style drums. Maybe they can occupy the streets with megaphones and cardboard signs, protesting something that will earn them bullets to the chest. What if the loving couple fought the world with magic wands? Shawn could be Harry Potter and Jessica could be Ginny Weasley. Maybe their revolution will be quiet and all they’ll need is a library full of good books. Shawn could be Charlie and Jessica could be Sam. So many possibilities. No matter what I choose for these two, they won’t take being human for granted this time.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You love me for everything you hate me for.”

-In This Moment singing “Whore”-

"The Woman" by Jack Ketchum & Lucky McKee

Whenever a child or teenager is accused of being “uncivilized”, they normally go to a manners class or an etiquette seminar. Having said this, it makes for a burning question as you pick up a copy of “The Woman”. How exactly is blowing out somebody’s eardrum with gunfire supposed to civilize a savage huntress? And when I say savage huntress, I’m not talking about that bikini clad lady that Raquel Welsh played in 10,000,000 BC. The woman in question is a lot more hideous and monstrous than that. Her face is distorted into a caveman caricature. Her muscles make a juicing bodybuilder’s look like pebbles. She has more dirt on her than a redneck’s truck. Her breath can knock out her opponents faster than a Travis Browne superman punch. Despite having all of these nasty features working against her, she still manages to become a sex object to the family trying to “tame” her. Actually, only the patriarch, Chris Cleek, is trying to tame her. The rest of his family is downright horrified, with the exception of Chris’ teenaged sociopath son, Brian. Would you like a clear portrait of what this fucked up family is like? That way, you’ll have a better idea of what kind of people are holding this cavewoman hostage. Chris Cleek is the patriarch and has a mean streak as wide as the scars he puts on his women’s faces. Brian Cleek is every bit as nasty and perverted as his father. I’d even dare say he’s a chip off the old block. Darleen Cleek is the youngest daughter and doesn’t even know what’s going on half of the time. Belle Cleek is the matriarch and has a hard time standing up to her man’s insidious behavior. In fact, she joins in on it during her moments of weakness. And then we have Peggy Cleek, the oldest daughter with a bun in the oven and a defensive demeanor. I won’t say who the father of Peggy’s child is, but if it’s not obvious to you at this point, it’s probably for the best. There you have it, folks. A fucked up family versus a fucked up tribal warrior. How is this going to end? Not very well, I’ll guarantee you that. If you want more, you’ll have to purchase a copy of this book and see for yourself why I gave it five stars on Good Reads. It’s fast paced (just like any suspense book would be), it’s disturbing as hell (also like any suspense novel would be), and when you wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be drenched in your own sweat and piss (do I really have to say it again)? Need anymore reasons? Didn’t think so.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“So take your necklace off and put a fucking noose in its place!”

-Sworn In singing “Hypocrisy”-