Incel Terrorism

***INCEL TERRORISM***

….Guys…we need to talk…we need to talk right fucking now…

I don’t know if anybody has told you this before, but murder, sexism, and rape are all bad things. Well, not just bad things. They’re awful things. They’re horrible things. If you’re an “involuntary celibate” or incel for short, you’re not going to attract women by committing acts of terrorism. In fact, by the time the “revolution against the Chads and Stacies” is over, you will have absolutely nothing you want. You will either be in prison or dead and you still won’t have a girlfriend.

Don’t get me wrong. If anybody gets the frustration of being single, it’s me. Loneliness sucks sometimes. But do you know what sucks even more than that? Being a murderer. Being an online troll. Being an all around negative human being. If you kill somebody else over sexual frustration, there’s no coming back from that. If you post hateful rhetoric online, you lose opportunities and you lose respect. Imagine that! Women actually enjoy being with men who treat them as equals! Wow! What a concept!

And if you think I’m writing all of this just to get laid, well, as Johnny Carson once said, “You’re wrong, ozone killer breath!” I’m writing these words because I don’t like watching murder stories on the evening news. I’m writing these words because every time an incel murder happens, it makes people who actually struggle with shyness look like fools. Murderers aren’t doing a service to anybody. I mean, seriously, are you fighting for love or hate? Do you hate love? Do you love hate? What is it you want?

Do you want to know what I do when I feel lonely? I create art. I draw pictures even though they’re crappy as fuck. I write first draft novels even though by their very definition are also crappy as fuck. I write poetry. I write songs. Loneliness can be a huge motivator for someone who wants to put their psychic energy to good use. Just ask Ricky Nelson, the guy who sang “Lonesome Town”. Just ask the Statler Brothers, who performed “Flowers On the Wall”. Ask Pink Floyd, who wrote such classics as “Hey You” and “Don’t Leave Me Now”, which are both about, you guessed it, loneliness, shyness, and isolation. And don’t give me this weak crap about how you’re not good at creating art, therefore you won’t do it. Everybody starts somewhere! Stephen King didn’t come out of the womb writing bestsellers. He worked at it! If you work at your craft, you might be surprised by how therapeutic it is.

If you need something a little more immediate than art, then I’ve got two words for you: Porn Hub. If you can dream it up, you’ll find it on Porn Hub, guaranteed. For instance, if you want to find a video of two lesbians scissoring each other while wearing diapers, it’s there. Wow! If you want to find a video of Tifa Lockhart from Final Fantasy VII giving an unknown man a blowjob, it’s right fucking there. Holy shit! If you want to watch a chick give her stepbrother a foot job, by all means, go for it. It’s right fucking there! All you need is a computer and some privacy. Make sure your door is locked and your shade is drawn. Hell, you can do what Billy Connolly does and pile furniture against the door. But believe it or not, visiting Porn Hub for a night of fun is actually an option! While it doesn’t provide the same intimate feeling as a full-on relationship, it’ll tide you over until then. Don’t believe me? Ask The Who, a band that performed a song about jerking off called “Pictures of Lily”. Wow!

And speaking of music, did you know that listening to it can provide a channel for your raw emotions? Holy shit! Where did this factoid come from?! If you’re angry, you can listen to “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera, a band fronted by a guy named Phil who’s pissed off at EVERYTHING! Or maybe you’re feeling a little more romantic and you want something lighter. No problem, just look up a song by Spandau Ballet called “True”. Or you just want to relax and forget about it all. May I suggest “Inamorata” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks. Music is a drug more powerful than cocaine and more philosophical than weed. Try it!

My point is, there are lots of channels for your broken heart and violence sure as shit isn’t one of them. Be nice to the women in your life and they’ll be nice to you. Treat them like shit and you’ll be treated like shit as well. This is not the Middle Ages anymore. You actually have to treat the world with the same respect you want to be treated with. Progressive change is a function of time. The more we learn, the more we put those lessons into action. You want to be loved? Then show some love yourself.

And when you show that love, don’t do it with the end game of getting laid. Do it because you’re a good human being and you’re better than the murderers and rapists of the world. I assure you that there are more important things in life than getting your junk greased, and this is coming from a guy who openly admits to being a 32-year-old virgin. Yes, loneliness sucks from time to time, but it doesn’t have to dominate your thoughts like a schizophrenic ghost. And on the day that you’re told “no” by a beautiful woman, listen to her and walk the fuck away. I’m Garrison fucking Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

Staple Gun Gangster

The tremendous bangs against Marco Said’s door jarred him awake, making him believe for a moment his house was being raided by the police. He sat in bed wearing nothing but Nike shorts and cursing when he saw what time it was on his digital clock. Three in the morning. Who in the hell would want to wake up Marco at three in the morning? He slipped on a pair of socks and running shoes (not even bothering with his shirt) and grabbed his trusty staple gun from the nightstand.

As he advanced toward the front door, the pounds became louder and Marco’s annoyance turned to full-blown rage. “Wait a fucking minute!” he yelled. Still awakening from his peaceful slumber, the gangster rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled on his way to answer the door. He didn’t even bother turning the porch or living room lights on.

When Marco saw the slimy, slobbering green mess of a man before him, the black gangster didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, Mr. Said had a scowl on his face that would shake marine drill instructors to their cores. With his staple gun raised in the air, he snapped, “You better have a damn good reason for coming over here at three in the fucking morning! Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want, bitch?!”

The muck-covered visitor smiled and exposed his rotten brown teeth. He laughed in a monstrous growl of a voice and said, “I’m the Boogeyman! And I need a favor. I hear you can get me some serious cash in a big hurry.”

“At three in the morning? What the hell does your ass need at three in the morning? I ought to staple your ass right now for waking me up this fucking early!” threatened Marco, shooting a few staples in the air for a demonstration.

The Boogeyman put a hand to his chest and feigned terror when he said, “A staple gun? Ooooo!” The monster even wiggled his fingers in sarcasm. “I thought you original baby gangsters liked to use some serious hardware. I was expecting an AK-47 or something like that. But instead you’ve got a staple gun. A gun…for stapling!” He laughed like a bloodthirsty hyena while leaning backwards and slapping his thigh.

Not wanting to be screwed with any further than he has, Marco shook his head and fired a staple into The Boogeyman’s leg, causing the monster to splash goop all over the gangster’s shorts and clutch his wound with almost mock agony. “You see that shit?” said Marco. “Any bitch nigga can shoot off a machinegun or sell cocaine on the streets. Me? I handle my business up front. Now, either you tell me what you want money for or I’ll shoot your ass again!”

The Boogeyman breathed heavily and chuckled once again before standing up straight to meet Marco’s gaze with a sinister grin. “Alright, buddy. You win. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve had any…how shall I put this…action.”

“Well, no shit, dawg! Your ass looks like something from a Michael Jackson video! Why don’t you dance down the street doing your Thriller thing and I’ll get my ass back in bed!” said Marco as he prepared to close the door.

The only thing that stopped him was The Boogeyman holding his hands out and saying, “No, wait! You’re right. I’m not much to look at. But…if I had some of that cold hard cash, these little girls wouldn’t have a choice! Get my drift? Some people like to dine on sweeter things than that. Me? My favorite kind of food…is fetish-ccini!”

As the monster laughed at his own pun, Marco fired another staple, this time at the creature’s groin, causing him to double over in a modicum of pain. Marco barked, “My noodle is your momma’s favorite kind of pasta, motherfucker! Now get your ass out of here! Ain’t nobody messing with no kids on my watch!”

“Since when did you become the paragon of morality?” said the Boogeyman with the widest of grins, still hunched over. “You’re a loan shark, one who kills people who don’t pay their debts on time. You’re right, buddy: you are a real thug. Those staples hurt like hell, whereas a bullet would end someone’s life right away. You’re not a murderer. You’re a torturer. You’re like me except without the slimy body.”

“Alright, boy, I see your point. Let me get some cheddar real quick. Stay right here,” said Marco, who reached into his secret panel and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He waved it in front of the Boogeyman’s face and said, “With the kind of bitches you’re looking for, this is all you’re going to need.” The gangster then stapled the ten dollar bill to the creature’s forehead, eliciting a much louder howl of pain than before. “We’re done for the day. Now get your ass off my front porch or I’ll turn you into a Swiss cheese, bitch!”

Marco slammed the door shut and locked both deadbolts. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “What the hell was all that about?” as he stumbled back to his bedroom, not wanting to wait another moment to get some shuteye. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks before jumping back into bed. The sounds of the Boogeyman screaming in agony were drowned out by the thickness of the front door. If anything, they were like a lullaby to Marco Said’s ears. He drifted off into the dream world without further incident.

By the time the staple gun gangster woke up, he saw that it was noon on his digital clock. She shoved it off the nightstand and cursed under his breath. Marco sat on the edge of his bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and contemplating the events of last night. Who in the hell was that guy? Why was he covered in goop? Why did it even matter that he looked like a creature out of a sci-fi movie? He threw on his same shoes and socks as well as a basketball jersey that was laying on the floor in a pile of unfinished laundry. He also grabbed his staple gun and reloaded it before heading toward the front door to start his day.

He dropped the weapon and stared at the gigantic hole in his door with wide eyes and furrowed brows. The door was covered with acidic slime and the floor had green footprints leading elsewhere. His secret money panel had been broken into as well. “What the fuck?!” he yelled before picking his staple gun back up again and following the footprints ever so slowly.

The closer he got to the closed bathroom door, the louder the sounds of muffled child screams echoed throughout the hallway. Marco’s blood boiled and his trigger finger got itchy. His menacing business stare turned into teeth-clenching, white-knuckle rage. The muffled screams were deafening and the sounds of goop slurping about were even more obnoxious. He was somewhat afraid to touch the door handle since it too was covered in that disgusting green filth.

With his hand tucked in his jersey, Marco slowly opened the door to see the Boogeyman laughing it up while the muffled children’s screams were behind the closed shower curtain. The creature shouted, “It’s complete! My revenge is complete!”

Not caring if that made sense or not, the gangster stapled the Boogeyman’s forehead, chest, and groin repeatedly, splashing green blood against the vanity and shower curtain. The monster curled up next to the toilet in a pathetic ball of pain while Marco shouted, “I told you what was going to happen if you kept messing around with me, motherfucker! I ain’t playing no games with you! I’ve got staples for days, bitch! I’ll do this shit for as long as I want! Those Guantanamo motherfuckers are pussies compared to me! Your ass is in for a long ass night!”

After the initial wave of torture wore off, the Boogeyman laughed in rebellion as if he didn’t care about Marco’s wrath one bit. When asked what was so funny, the creature said, “Don’t you get it, buddy? I didn’t need those children for a good time. Nah, I needed them for a little bit of revenge.” When asked what he was talking about, the Boogeyman said, “Did you ever wonder why those kids turned to prostitution? To pay their bills of course. Their parents couldn’t do it because they were killed by a certain staple gun gangster, who by the way didn’t like late payments and collected with interest.”

Marco looked down at the monster with solemnity before shouting, “Bullshit! This is all just a game! Your ass is having a laugh!”

“Trust me, Mr. Said: there’s nothing funny about growing up in the hood with no parents and no other way to pay bills than having sex with strange men. If you need proof, just ask them yourself,” said the Boogeyman before slowly standing up and drawing back the shower curtain.

Marco’s eyes widened with horror for the first time in a long while. He was shakier than a woman’s sex toy at the sight of black teenaged girls covered in slime, just like the Boogeyman. They drooled, droned, and gurgled as they screamed for vengeance and hungered for blood. The Boogeyman placed a not-so-loving hand on Marco’s shoulder and said, “My name is Kip Kyle, but you’ll remember me as the father one of these children. Surely, the name Kip Kyle means something to you, right? Maybe the name of a former customer?”

The gangster’s heavy nervous breathing turned to cowardly whimpers as he curled up against the bathroom sink holding his staple gun with a quaking arm. Kip Kyle raised his goopy arm and brought it down with his finger pointed right at his murderer, signaling for the little slime balls to chomp, chew, and devour their way through Marco’s body.

The gangster would have screamed, but blood was in his throat after a girl gnawed on his neck. Soon enough, the staple gun gangster was nothing more than a pile of picked bones, bloody rivers, and slurped organs. The teenaged girls’ hungers for vengeance and human meat were both satisfied to the point of fat bellies and bright brown smiles. One of them even let out a loud burp to the others’ laughing delights.

Another one of the girls asked, “Can we go home, Daddy?” in a gargling voice.

“Yes,” said Kip. “We can all go home now. The last one to the sewers is a rotten egg!”

Zombie-Ogre

VERSE 1
Eat, sleep, shatter, repeat
Ultra-violence for human meat
Winner, winner, chicken dinner
The glutinous one is a true sinner
Blood on his fangs, flesh on his tongue
Poison in his gut, disease in his lungs
Zombie-Ogre is coming to kill
Cannibalism, a sadistic thrill


CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre! X2


VERSE 2
The mosh pit is more like a buffet table
Survive genocide? You’re clearly unable
You can kick and punch, but your ass is lunch
It’s just a formality and not only a hunch
Heavy metal fuels his venomous veins
Every guitar riff ensures his iron reign
Zombie-Ogre is the master of slam dance
Getting out alive is a fucking slim chance


CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre! X2


VERSE 3
Never forget, you made him this way
You laughed at him every goddamn day
You shamed his body from head to toe
Threw rocks at him with crushing blows
Now he’s hungry for the flesh of humans
Disgusting creatures just like he knew them
The meat is so tender it falls of the bone
The blood is perfect for the king in his throne


EXTENDED CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
Don’t worry, bitches, it’ll all be over!
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
Cannibalism gives him a massive boner!
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
He can end it quickly if you just roll over!
Submit yourself to the barbecue rack!
Feel the flames turning your body black!


FINAL LINE
Zombie-Ogre! Mmm, mmm, good!

Bondage In Fiction

Just because there’s a hot and sexy lady rolling around on the floor with her hands cuffed and her mouth taped, doesn’t necessarily mean the intent behind the bondage was boner-worthy. And before you ask, no, this entry isn’t a rehashing of Fifty Shades of Grey. Not all bondage is sexual, though it can easily be interpreted that way. For instance, in the BBC television series Chandler & Company, there’s a scene where Elly Chandler gets tied up with electrical cords and gagged with black tape. If this scene was on You Tube, I’m sure there would be hundreds of horny men claiming that they came all over their monitor or some classless shit like that. They already do that for the French short film Poison d’Avril since the female lead is gagged with a pink rubber ball. What does this have to do with literature? Simple: as writers, if we’re going to tie and gag a hot and sexy woman, we’d better be prepared for the consequences if the scene isn’t executed correctly. For example, you have to be conscious of what kind of gag is used in the scene. In crime dramas and military thrillers, the captor is more likely to use a cloth or tape gag while in horror and erotic novels, the captor will either use a bit or a ball gag. If you want to know why this is important, try switching the two genres and gag types around. Let’s say you’re watching the episode of NCIS where Ziva David is kidnapped by the port-to-port killer Jonas Cobb. When she was discovered by Gibbs and the team, she had duct tape on her mouth, albeit for a short while. If she had been discovered with a ball gag and leather underwear, the audience would have a hard time taking the drama seriously. In fact, they might laugh their asses off. Tape gags work well in horror and erotic novels, but tread lightly, my friends. If you’re writing an erotic novel and your lead captor is holding an AK-47 to the fully dressed tape gagged vixen, then your male readers’ penises will shrivel up to the size of a pea. In horror, pretty much any gag will work. In Candyman 3, the lead female character is captured and ball gagged. In Die Watching, one of the female characters is topless and has duct tape on her mouth and nose. By this rationale, you can get away with pretty much anything you want when it comes to bondage scenes in horror novels, as long as it’s disturbing and creepy. In the end, it’s your novel and you’re going to write it your way. But if you’re writing a crime novel where a teenaged girl is tape gagged and whipped by a guy in leather underwear and a zipper hood, be prepared for scrutiny. Lots and lots of scrutiny.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Seven witnesses saw you kill those people. You know what that means? It means if one of them gets hit by a bus, there are still six more witnesses who saw you do it.”

-Dutch Wagenbach from “The Shield”-