Adorably Clueless

Billy Mann scanned books into the system while his mind drifted off into outer space. “The second chance college prom,” he thought to himself. “If you couldn’t get it right the first time, you won’t get it right the second time.” He repeated this mantra over and over in his mind while paying minimal attention to the students checking out books at the counter. Loud conversations rarely carried on in quaint libraries like this one.

The loud snapping of fingers, however, was enough to jolt Billy awake like a fire underneath his ass. He adjusted his thick rimmed glasses and saw the image of a lovely Mexican student in front of him, donning a black dress with floral designs and flipping her raven black hair around with a ruby red smile on her face. “Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bacey! Rise and shine! It’s breakfast time!” she giggled.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. Here, let me scan that book for you,” said Billy while fluffing his black hair and adjusting his checkered wool vest. “Can I have your name, please?”

“Man, you really are out of it today, aren’t you? What are you doing, thinking about your girlfriend?” said the lady with her elbows on the counter and her face in her manicured hands.

Billy just now realized the student’s library card was tucked in the pages like a bookmark. He shook himself awake yet again before reading the name on the card, which was Mia Rodriguez. “My apologies, Miss Rodriguez,” said Billy while scanning her items.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I’d be out of it too if all I could think about was the second chance prom,” Mia grinned, flashing her pearly white dentistry.

The librarian’s face flashed a neon shade of red at that revelation. He’d been talking out loud this whole time? Were the other students just trying to avoid him? Is that why they didn’t speak up sooner? Billy felt like crawling under the desk and sucking his thumb into a deep sleep. His testicles seemed to shrink to the size of Tic-Tacs.

Speaking of which, a tiny winter mint capsule would have been nice at that point. He breathed into his hand and scrunched his face in disgust at what he smelled. That breakfast burrito hung around like a home invader. Or even more appropriate, a flirtatious Mexican lady who just wanted a fucking library book.

“If you wanted a breath mint, I could have given you one. I’ve got a million of them in my purse,” said Mia as she rifled through her belongings.

“No, no, that’s okay. I’m just, uh…” Billy could only complete his sentence with a deep sigh, as if the tunnel of air would relax his rapidly beating heart and his ice cold neurons.

“Look, if you’re that hung up on the second chance prom, just take one of these,” said Mia as she handed him a business card with her name and phone number on it. The redness in Billy’s face was a perfect match for Mia Rodriguez’s cherry-colored lips. “You don’t have to be shy around me. Just give me a call if you change your mind about the prom. Buenos tardes…Billy Mann! How could I not like a guy with Mann in his name?”

“Wait a minute, how did you know my name?” asked Billy. He looked down at his vest and at that moment noticed he wore a nametag this whole time. Mia giggled and waved goodbye at him before strutting away with her book. Billy hung his head in shame, wishing deep down that he could hang his head with an extension cord. He tucked his lips inward and bit down on them before tossing Mia’s business card in the dustbin behind him. He breathed out another sigh in a futile effort to calm his nerves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked a black feminine voice behind him. Billy mouthed, “Oh no” to himself and then turned around to see his coworker Dottie Jackson fishing Mia’s business card out of the garbage bin. With a hand on her purple dress-wearing hip and an incredulous pout in her lips, she said, “You’re really going to let this chick slip through your fingers, babe? I don’t think so. You need to get out every once and a while and you literally had that opportunity handed to you on a silver platter.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to trust her with my heart that fucking easily. Give me a break,” said Billy with his arms folded and his weight leaning against the counter.

“If you can’t trust her, who can you trust?” asked Dottie. “All your high school crushes are long gone, my friend. Sure, you could look them up on Face Book, but you ain’t bringing them all the way over here for a stupid dance. That chick was into you, buddy. Seriously, how often does that happen anymore?”

“So I’m just supposed to say yes to any chick who flirts with me? For all I know, this could be some kind of joke. I’ve had girls in high school joke around like this all the time. I know a faker when I see one,” said Billy.

“This ain’t high school anymore, Billy-Boy,” said Dottie as she tucked Mia’s business card in his vest pocket. “This is college. She’s in her twenties, just like you and me. You really think she would go up to just anybody and waste their time like that? She’s too old for that shit. You’ve got something that others don’t.”

Billy laughed sarcastically and waved Dottie’s talking points off with his hand. “Please, Dottie, I’ve got absolutely nothing. I’m a super nerd who works at a college library. It doesn’t get anymore uncool than that.”

“Uncool? Really?” asked Dottie with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, you really are stuck in high school if you’re talking like that, honey. You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, my friend. If you don’t want to date her, that’s fine. Just don’t yammer on about the second prom out loud to the customers. You’re scaring them off like a bus stop psychopath.” Dottie walked away and left Billy to contemplate her arguments.

The librarian tucked his face in his hand and shook his head. The embarrassment was killing him like snake poison flowing through his veins. Any more of this psycho babble and he was out of a job. What if this Mia Rodriguez really was the last opportunity for him? Was it that easy this entire time? His mind blazed through a whole rolodex of girls he could have asked on dates when he was in high school. The cheerleaders, the geeks, the sweethearts, each and every one of them had fallen away from his grasp. The images of them flipping their hair and pursing their lips forced a single tear to build up in his eye.

“Excuse me! Hey! Hello!” shouted an impatient customer, which snapped Billy out of his trance and put him in apologetic mode once again. That was the difference between Mia Rodriguez and everybody else who checked out books here: harshness wouldn’t even cross her mind. Even if she was being disingenuous, it was better than the grating voice of a three hundred pound frat boy staring down at him like a bear waiting for his next meal.

Nightfall descended upon the college town and Billy’s shift was thankfully over. Somehow, the thoughts of Mia flirting with him so openly got him through a tough work day. He actually smiled and chuckled as he exited the building. How long as it been since even a hint of happiness crossed his face? He had to stop by the florist and pick up a bouquet of roses. He had to stop by her apartment. It really was his last chance and damn it, he wasn’t going to let it pass him by! He picked up the pace in the parking lot and hurried to his respective destinations.

The dashboard clock read 7:30 and Billy drove over to Mia’s apartment in record time. He wondered about the shoddy conditions of the building. The wood splintered and the paint peeled. Plus, there was a neon green swear word spray painted on the walls. Maybe Mia secretly needed a gentleman like Billy to take her away from this horrifying place. Whoever said romance novels weren’t real had never felt the beautiful rhythm in Billy’s heart before. With flowers in hand, he exited his Prius and ascended the stairs to her apartment.

He knocked on the door and Mia told him to come in. The interior of the apartment looked much lovelier than the exterior, or it could have been the angelic glow of lava lamps placed every which way. Or maybe it could have been Mia’s wide smile that could have brought the toughest men to their knees. “You brought flowers! Don’t just stand out there! Come on in, sugar-booger!”

The two would-be dates for the second chance prom met in the center of the room and hugged tightly, Mia’s high heeled feet lifting off the ground. She kissed his forehead and said, “See? I knew you wouldn’t be in that trance forever!”

Except Billy was in a trance now. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Mia’s brown beauties. This is what second chances looked like. This is what happy endings felt like. This is what…gang initiations looked like? His lustful trance morphed into a frown of fear when Billy found himself surrounded by Mexican gangsters in basketball jerseys with tattoos running up and down their arms. “Mia…I trusted you…” he whispered with quivering lips.

“I know you did, honey,” said Mia with fake sympathy. “But if you came here looking to lose your virginity, you can still do that. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The gangsters all unzipped their jean flies and chuckled evilly at Billy while one of them closed the front door and bolted it shut. Mia backed away and Billy could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He kept mouthing the word, “Why?” without having a powerful enough voice to speak it.

One of the gangsters said, “That’s right, buddy, you keep moving those lips. You’re going to need them! Open wide, sweetheart! It’s initiation time, bitch!” The gang bangers circled around Billy and wrestled him to the ground, already proving that broken hearts and loneliness were better than broken bodies and mind-numbing trauma. He screamed like Mia would have done in a similar situation, but she just laughed it off while the gangsters had their way with Billy.

By the end of this night, a group of thugs would earn their stripes and a victimized librarian would lose his mind, his soul, and his cherry all in one night. Tears flowed more violently than the blood in his mouth and asshole. If something was too good to be true, it probably was. Billy had lied to himself this whole time and that was a more vicious lie than anything Mia could have spun up.

Xanax and Perrier

VERSE 1

My weirdest dreams are of school it seems

Naked in front of the students and deans

A grown adult fighting it out with teens

Doing crystal math until my eyes bleed

Dreading the day I receive my grades

Failing every class, I cannot be saved

There’s always next year, no question about

It’s hard to speak up when my teeth fall out

CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

VERSE 2

My wildest dreams are of music and screams

Heavy metal menus in the strangest venues

Pantera tore it up in a grocery store

3DG in a lecture hall, I want more

Rammstein shot flames in a Chinese diner

Roger Waters at the Stonehenge, not bad, old-timer

Brit Floyd in a museum, not an easy feat

It’s hard to sing songs with loosening teeth

CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

BRIDGE

Sometimes all I want is to go the fuck home

But these dreamy busses are so damn slow

The foot ferries splash as they’re about to crash

The airplanes race into outer fucking space

VERSE 3

My nerdy dreams make me want to cream

Comic book shops on every street block

Libraries with dark fantasy sweetness

My dream theater knows my favorite weakness

Seeing my notebooks being sold on the shelves

Seeing my novels being read by elves

Hearing my poems being read by pixies

My dreams come true whether it’s now or sixty

EXTENDED CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

Every youngster has the right to dream

Every adult can set them free

Never give up, never let it die

Spread your dragon wings and fly

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Swear Words

Many told Bernard Hamm that he would never amount to anything. They told him he would die in his twenties due to his obesity. They told him he was too lazy to get anything done. And yet, here he was sitting at a booth at the Paulson City Public Library signing copies of his debut fantasy novel “Memento Mori”. The crowd was modest in size, but Bernard didn’t mind. The fact that he got his novel out there said something to all of his haters: that he was here to stay despite being over three hundred pounds.

Mr. Hamm looked the part of a professional author in his beige polo shirt, black slacks, and thick-rimmed glasses. He also felt like one when his massive autographing hand was getting tired. He gripped his wrist and rolled his hand around as if that would give him any circulation. He had to put his exhausted paw to use once again when he wagged a finger at a teenaged girl trying to take pictures of him, to which she apologized and walked off.

One person Bernard kept his eye on was a caramel-skinned man with puffy black hair and a white tank top. The familiar figure kept looking at his dying cell phone and cursing loudly, to which the librarians had to shush him. Bernard shook his head and continued singing autographs until the last of the small crowd had dispersed for the day. The tubby author clutched his wrist and rolled his hand around some more. He even opened and closed his fingers while the puffy-haired gentleman asked the clerk loudly for internet access.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Bernard kept his eyes down and fiddled with his hands some more, a sure sign that anxiety was building within him. Maybe it was time to get the hell out of this library for the day. But first, Bernard cracked both of his wrists and popped his fingers, as if this would alleviate some of his nervousness. He also took deep breaths due to his heart racing inside his massive body. Just get up and walk casually out the door.

“Barney-Boy? Is that you, buddy?” said the loudmouth from across the library. The shit-eating grin on his face put a saggy frown on Bernard’s. “Remember me, big man?” said the man as he approached the author’s booth. “It’s your boy, Diego Martinez! We used to go to school together! Holy shit, man! You ain’t changed one bit, buddy!”

“Some things never do,” said Bernard with his chin shamefully tucked against his chest.

“Holy shit, I gotta get a picture of this. This is gonna go live, man! You’re gonna be famous!” said Diego as he pulled out his cell phone. “I still got some juice left. How did that happen? Let’s snap a few of these bad boys!”

“Put the phone away, Diego. I don’t allow pictures at my book signings,” said Bernard with a lack of conviction, still keeping the shameful look on his pudgy face.

“Hey, it’s a free country, man. I’ll take a picture of whatever I want. Besides, you want people to buy whatever the fuck you wrote, right? Well, you gotta put yourself out there, big man,” said Diego before snapping the first few pictures and yelling “OH!”

“Put the goddamn phone away and stop taking pictures of me! Don’t you have any respect for privacy?” said Bernard as his tone grew more aggressive with his sausage fingers clenched.

“Man, you ain’t gonna get no sales sitting behind a booth all day. Trust me, buddy, you need those sales for some kind of gym membership or something,” said Diego while snapping more pictures.

Bernard’s chubby cheeks were burning bright pink. His short fingernails dug into his palms. Sweat poured from his face like a rainstorm with plenty of thunderclouds. “I’m going to count to five. If you don’t put that goddamn phone away, I’m going to bend you over this booth and shove it up your ass!”

“Man, why the fuck do you care about stupid shit like that? That bullying business was a long time ago. Ain’t nobody gonna care if you’re a big guy. Your doctor might, but I don’t think anyone else will. Seriously, man, I’m doing you a favor. You need some motivation or something,” said Diego while once again snapping photos with the frequency of a machinegun.

“That’s it!” shouted Bernard as he bulldozed the booth and charged at Diego, who was too busy playing the role of paparazzi to notice the three hundred pound juggernaut was ready to strike. Diego snapped out of his Face Book-addicted trance long enough to feel boa constrictor fingers around his throat.

Everyone around the library went from anxious ignorance to fleeing panic, screaming as they ran away rather than doing something to help Diego. The librarian behind the desk fumbled with the phone cradle as she punched three familiar numbers. Her speech was reduced to stuttering gibberish as she fearfully related the incident over the phone.

As the purple-faced Diego was on his knees trying to pry Bernard’s fingers loose, the heavy hitter bellowed, “I told you not to take any fucking pictures, you stupid son of a bitch! I don’t like being fat! I don’t like being bullied online! I don’t like…!”

The fading Diego used the last of his strength to uppercut Bernard in the balls, forcing him to release the chokehold and stumble on the ground holding his family jewels. The wannabe photographer rolled on his side and coughed up a conservative amount of blood before taking labored breaths in and out that felt like swallowing knives.

As soon as he got an adequate amount of oxygen in his lungs, Diego pointed his finger at the downed Bernard and said, “You know what? I tried to help you! I tried to put the good word out there! I tried to help you get some motivation to get your fat ass off the couch! Now I’m gonna sue your ass!” He pointed at the shivering librarian and said, “You’re gonna be my witness!”

The librarian crouched down on the floor in the fetal positions and stuttered, “I…I can’t do that, Mr. Martinez. I…I just…I can’t!”

Diego leapt to his feet and sucked down a whirlwind of precious oxygen. “You saw what that fat fucker did to me! You’d better cooperate! I’ll sue this whole damn library if I have to! What’re you guys good for anyways?!” He slowly stalked the cowering librarian like a tiger on a wounded animal. “You think either you or this fat bastard over here are gonna get famous with books?! Nobody cares about books no more! I came in here to get some free internet and you’re gonna give it to me, bitch!”

Bernard held onto a nearby bookshelf to try and pull himself to his feet, but he kept his legs crossed due to the searing pain in his balls. He fell over on his side and watched Diego hold a hand up like he was going to slap the librarian for not doing her job. Mr. Martinez shouted, “Come on, little lady! Be a woman! Do what I tell you!”

Bernard got on his hands and knees in another attempt to pull himself up, but he fell over once again, the pain in his groin too much. Diego’s shouting turned into a cacophony of gibberish, which meant the corpulent author was fading into darkness. He heard the sound of skin slapping skin and that was enough to wake him up in a burning rage.

He slowly stood up while trying to ignore the pain in his nuts. Diego was a blur from where he was standing, but he was enough of a clear shape for Bernard to unleash his pent up anger. So many times he’d been called out for being fat. So many times he was called a loser. So many girls refused to go on dates with him. Those that did ended up doing it on a dare. And now this piece of shit known as Diego Martinez was going to bring those nightmares back to life like a necromantic apocalypse.

Bernard grabbed a hardcover book off of the shelf and tried to focus his eyes on Diego, who was screaming more gibberish and slapping the librarian in short bursts. The good thing about being this massive was that it gave Bernard a liberal amount of strength. He raised the book over his head while the pain in his nuts got hotter. Even with a testicle injury, Bernard threw the hardcover book and dropped to his knees in pain.

He heard a loud thud before his vision became somewhat dark. The last thing he remembered hearing was the sound of a body dropping on the floor. Even with blurry eyes opening halfway, that hairdo of Diego Martinez was unmistakable. Even little spots of red danced across Bernard’s eyes.

The hardcover book found its mark: right in the back of Diego’s head. Why lift weights when the strength was already there? Why change who he was when his inner strength was more impressive than his physical strength? Bernard would have loved to tell Diego that, but both men were too unconscious to have a real conversation.

The next couple of days were a blur for Bernard Hamm. He spent some of that time in the hospital and was too sedated to remember it all. He stayed at home recuperating and dreaded getting out of bed one morning because his computer was right there. With computers came internet service. With internet service came trolls. With trolls came pictures snapped by Diego’s phone.

Bernard’s stomach was in more knots than a hangman’s rope, which he was certain he needed once this day was over. How many days had it been since the incident in the library? Two? Three? Seven? Surely that amount of time was long enough for a few fat pictures to circulate.

The author slumped out of bed, but slowly, not only to help him recover, but also to delay having to see the inevitable. He sat down at his desk with ease and powered on his computer. As the machine was booting up, so was the cold feeling in his veins and the ill feeling in his stomach. He broke out in an icy sweat and took note of his rapidly beating heart. And then the computer was fully functional.

Bernard took labored breaths before opening Google Chrome and checking his Amazon page. Sure enough, the trolls had come out from under their bridges. One-star reviews, fat jokes until the end of time, and Photoshopped pictures of Bernard as Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars. Tears welled up in the author’s eyes as he grabbed a nearby tissue and blew his wide nose.

What he saw next brought even more waterfalls to his sore eyes: five-star reviews to counteract the one-star hits, book sales doubling, and comments about Bernard Hamm’s heroism in the library when he knocked out Diego Martinez long enough for the cops to take the obnoxious punk to jail.

Bernard’s chest was soaked with tears and snot. He couldn’t blow his nose fast enough to keep all of the emotion from flowing out of him. For every Diego Martinez in this world, there was an angel from the heavens. For every anti-fat bigot, there was a beautiful soul. For every poorly-spelled message on an internet board, there was a copy of “Memento Mori” sitting on a bookshelf waiting to be read. For the first time in Bernard Hamm’s life, he was free.

Football Sucks

When Democratic Mayor Irwin Gladden opened the blinds to his office window, what he saw shook him to his very core. Protesters. Lots and lots of protesters wearing football jerseys and helmets. All of them shouting incoherently at the top of their dragon-like lungs. Some of them with signs that said, “Football doesn’t suck!” and “Impeach Gladden!”. Most of them with Photoshopped pictures of the Mayor in a Nazi uniform or a turban with a bomb strapped around his body.

Being new to the job, Mayor Gladden obviously wasn’t used to this kind of violent treatment down on the streets of Paulson City. His blood was chilled. His jaw was quivering. His hands were vibrating. He had a knot in his stomach the size of a cannonball and a lump in his throat the size of a watermelon. All of these normally fine young citizens came together through their mutual hatred of this newly-elected official.

Though he wasn’t one-hundred-percent prepared for a day like this, he could think of a good reason why it was happening. The football paraphernalia, the firecrackers going off, the trumpets blasting everywhere, they could only mean one thing. These citizens were protesting because Irwin Gladden wanted to convert their beloved football stadium into the city’s largest public library. If that wasn’t “sacrilegious” enough, the thirty-something Mayor actually had the balls to say, “Football sucks!”

His balls weren’t feeling so big anymore. In fact, as soon as he saw a firecracker zooming towards his window (only to veer off at the last minute), Irwin snapped the blinds shut and cowered in the center of his office. How could so many people be so zealous and ignorant over a game of football? It made no sense.

Mayor Gladden’s day went from bad to worse when his front door hastily opened, causing him to spring backwards in fear and sit on the edge of his desk. He thought he was going to get mugged by these protesters. Instead, it happened to someone else entirely. Irwin’s personal bodyguard, Fred Jacobs, had stumbled into his office, slammed the door behind him, and collapsed on the floor while coughing up blood.

Irwin and Fred could not be more physically different from each other. The bodyguard was a hulking bad black man in a brown suit and tie while the Mayor was only this gray suit-wearing, skinny twig who barely filled his counterpart’s shadow. Fred Jacobs didn’t look very intimidating at that moment. Rolling over on his back and spewing up more blood didn’t help create that kind of image.

The frightened politician rushed over and knelt by his bodyguard’s side and asked, “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?! Where are the goddamn paramedics?!”

After coughing up a splash of blood, Fred explained, “The protesters are blocking the streets from all angles. They’re not going to move even for first responders. What kind of shit storm did you cause out there, buddy?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal!” said Irwin defensively. “It’s just a stupid arena! More taxpayer money goes into that stadium than anywhere else on the budget! We could have used that money to improve roads, hire more teachers, feed our poor, cure our sickly, and instead it’s going into this big ass stadium so that more athletes can end up in the hospital or even dead! Tell me my logic is wrong! I dare you!”

“Alright, dude,” said Fred as he sat up and looked his boss in the eyes with fiery zeal. “Your logic is wrong! There, I said it! Do you want to fire me now?!”

Irwin stood up in disbelief and backed up slowly. “What are you talking about? This makes perfect sense. Instead of going out there and giving people concussions, we could turn the whole stadium into a public library and actually improve their brain power for once.”

“That’s exactly how fucked up you are, Mayor!” Fred Jacobs stood up and spit a wad of chunky blood on the ground. If he was dizzy before, he wasn’t showing it at this moment. “A library? Really? You actually thought people would be onboard with that? This is Paulson City, damn it! People here don’t know whether to scratch their watches or wind their asses! They don’t give a shit about literature! You’re basically forcing your personal tastes on these poor people!”

Just like his bodyguard, Irwin Gladden suddenly found his testicle power when he snapped, “No! I’m not forcing anything on anybody! It’s called tough love! If these people won’t educate themselves, it’s my job and my responsibility to push them along!”

“Alright, man,” said Fred as he snorted blood up his nose and swallowed in a massive gulp. “I didn’t want to have to tell this story, but if it’s the only way to get through to your sorry ass, then goddamn it, it’ll have to do. You want to know how I got this big ass body? I didn’t get it through sitting on my ass eating Cheetohs and watching The Simpsons. I played football all throughout high school and college. That’s right! I was a quarterback for the Paulson City Warlords!”

“You’re kidding me,” said Irwin when he folded his arms.

“Back then they called me Freddy the Barbarian. They would have called me Inmate Number Blah-Blah-Blah if it wasn’t for football. It was either football or gangs and drugs for me. I lived in a poor neighborhood, my friend. A neighborhood that the previous Republican mayor promised to fix. Instead, all we had was more drugs, more gangs, and a shit load more police brutality. I joined the Paulson City Warlords to get away from all that disgusting crap. So the next time you say football sucks, think of this big ugly face staring you down!”

The big ugly face was indeed staring Mayor Gladden down and it was more frightening to look at than a dark fantasy demon. The politician’s body language showed it all: a trembling body that barely managed to stay seated to the edge of his desk. For the longest few seconds, Irwin and Fred didn’t say a damn thing to each other.

And then the Mayor screamed like a girl and ran into his bodyguard’s arms when he heard a cacophonous bang shattering his window and ripping his blinds. One of the firecrackers from the demonstration exploded against his window and went out in smoke.

Mayor Gladden had every reason in the world to piss his Armani pants and cry into Fred Jacobs’ Men’s Warehouse jacket. It was a tempting offer, but instead Irwin was red-faced with anger. He got down from his protector’s arms and stomped over to the phone. When asked what the hell he was doing, Irwin said, “I’m putting an end to this right now. Screw the riot police. If they’re not coming to my rescue, then I’ll declare a state of emergency and get the National fucking Guard! I’ll even tell them to bring AK-47’s instead of those wimpy rubber bullets. And real grenades too instead of that tear gas shit!”

“Put down that goddamn phone, Mayor Gladden!” screamed Fred, to which the Democrat slowly and shakily did. “Look at you, man! It’s your first week on the job and you’re already cracking under pressure! That’s not the Mayor I signed up with! You’re supposed to be this caring progressive who thinks of others! And now look at you! You’re actually considering killing those protesters with AK-47’s all because a firecracker got launched through your window!”

No arguments there. Irwin had snapped big time and all he could do was plop in his chair and try to block out the cacophony going on outside. It was doubtful another firecracker would make its way into his office again; that last one was a lucky shot. The city official just held his face in his hands and wept. “I can’t do this, Fred. I can’t do this. I want to step down.”

“No, you don’t,” said the bodyguard after putting a comforting hand on his boss’s shoulder. “You came here for a reason and that was to clean up Paulson City. You have the chance to do that right now by phoning the riot police. There are people down there who need you whether they know it or not. Do the right thing, Mayor. If the riot police won’t come, then you have my permission to get the National Guard. Just please, none of that AK-47 and real grenade crap this time.”

Irwin took a few deep breaths in and out, calming himself down in the midst of the outside chaos. “You’re right, Fred. You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And if football made you the man you are today, I doubt it could suck that badly.”

Fred Jacobs smiled and patted Irwin on the shoulder before leaving him alone to make the phone call. Just a few minutes ago, this ex-football player was dizzy and bleeding. Now he was toughing it out like a pro and that was inspiring to Irwin, who then picked up the phone and made this announcement: “Send them in. It’s an emergency.” The call for help was placed and all Irwin and Fred could do at this point was ride out the storm.

Obselidia

MOVIE TITLE: Obselidia
DIRECTOR: Diane Bell
YEAR: 2010
GENRE: Drama
RATING: PG-13 for language
GRADE: Pass

George is a librarian who moonlights as a cataloguist for obsolete and nostalgic items, all of which he hopes to document for a book he’s putting together. He even goes so far as to believe love is obsolete and therefore leads the lonely life of being single. When he meets a beautiful projectionist named Sophie, she tries to get him to come out of his shell as the two of them venture to Death Valley to interview a climate change scientist for George’s book. The ideas of love and the apocalypse collide in a debate about how we should spend our last minutes on earth if they truly are that. Will George live the rest of his life in isolation or will he believe in the power of love humans can give each other? Does he have anything in his heart for Sophie?

The three major themes of this movie (living life to the fullest, romance, and nostalgia) intertwine perfectly with each other as they try to bring George and Sophie together as a romantic couple. With nostalgia, they bond over how the past used to be a happy and simpler time, when technology wasn’t going berserk and people paid attention to each other. With living life to the fullest, they get hard hitting cynicism from the climate change scientist who believes all happy experiences will be erased because of humankind’s sins against the earth. With romance, it’s the classic tale of a socially awkward guy like George shying away from a flirtatious girl like Sophie. With the scientist feeding him all of this negativity, George has to struggle to believe in the power of love when Sophie tries to get in his social bubble.

Near the end of the movie, we ask ourselves if George’s struggle to suppress his inner negativity is worth it. While he does realize how the power of love can make someone happy, he also realizes how it can break his heart. While I won’t give away any spoilers, I will say that Sophie does break George’s heart in the end and he’s sobbing to himself in the comfort of his own home looking at pictures of their vacation together in Death Valley. That is such a powerful image that the audience watching has no choice but to question their own capacity for romantic love. This may not have been the message the movie was trying to send, but to my way of thinking, in this 50-50 bet between happiness and heartache, I was leaning towards heartache. I was so heartbroken and touched by the movie’s end that I spent the rest of the night listening to Seether’s cover of Wham’s “Careless Whisper”.

The best part about this movie is that it encourages the audience to ask questions instead of mindlessly conforming to a singular principal. If the world ends tomorrow, how will we spend our last hours on earth? Is romantic love worth all the struggles or does it lead to easy cynicism? Should we all love each other before it truly is indeed too late? Should we have as many experiences as we can despite the huge risk attached to them? Finding the answers to these questions takes a lot of courage and living with the answers is even scarier than that. Some people become so saddened by the answers that they resort to isolation or even worse, suicide. In the end, positivity will save us. It will get us through the hardships whether they’re in a personal relationship or part of a global crisis. If you’re going to attempt to answer these questions, make sure you do it without regret. Otherwise, temporary heartache will feel like permanent torture.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I love the way that your heart breaks with every injustice and deadly fate.”

-Flyleaf singing “Again”-

Halloween at the Library

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

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

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

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

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

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

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

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

-George Carlin-

"Dewey" by Vicki Myron

Spencer, Iowa is a small farming community that has endured a lot of heartache over the past century. An economic recession, an economic depression, a raging fire, and the generally hard work of being a farmer have all taken their toll on this town. In spite of everything, Spencer stood tall and endured.

One of Spencer’s citizens and the author of this book, Vicki Myron, has also endured a lot in her life. Aside from the farmer’s lifestyle, she had a failed marriage with an alcoholic husband, she depended on welfare to see her through college, and she suffered through her family’s genetic curse of cancer as it took many of her loved ones‘ lives as well as attempted to take hers.

How exactly does any person, let alone a whole town, get through it all? With the help of a little kitty pie named Dewey. The teeny tiny cutie was found shivering, cold, and alone in the drop-off box of the library where Vicki Myron worked.

Wrapping him in a blanket and nursing him back to health was just the start of a beautiful friendship between Dewey and Vicki. In spite of the hardships he suffered in that drop-off box, Dewey was a total extrovert and wanted the love and attention of everybody coming and going through the library. Word of Dewey‘s beautiful aura spread throughout the small town of Spencer and eventually the entire world.

How could a teeny tiny kitty pie like Dewey bring so much attention to the lonely old Spencer, Iowa? Because that‘s what cuddle muffins like him do. He wasn‘t just a library cat. He was a beacon of love for a world full of brokenhearted families. Just putting a hand on his fluffy fur was enough to send waves of joy and happiness through the body and soul of the one petting him.

His legacy of love lasted for a little under two decades. He lived a long and joyful life. But like all good things, his time on earth had come to an end. Even though he was already old and sickly, it still came as a depressing shock to the world that he had to be put down and cremated to ashes. Vicki Myron was so saddened by the loss of her beautiful kitty that she retired from library work.

Whatever magic Dewey was conjuring up, it was enough to make his biography the most inspirational, heartwarming, and heartbreaking bestseller in recent memory. Even if you’re not a cat person, you can still appreciate this tale of fighting through adversity and becoming stronger for the experience.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There’s a group in California that wants to make suicide a federal offense punishable by death. That’s like punishing somebody for being on a hunger strike by sending them to bed with no supper.”

-Bill Engvall-

"Last Words" by George Carlin

Of all the comedians who have graced the stage with their giggly prowess, no one had a more legendary, prolific, and productive career than George Carlin. To this day, I consider him one of my biggest influences when it comes to my writing. And speaking of writing, it just so happens that his posthumous memoir “Last Words” is out in bookstores everywhere. In this book, he details the transformation he went through over the decades from an impressionist to a political sage. In his younger days he would do impressions of politicians, religious figures, celebrities, and even people in his own life. Because of the changing political environment around him, he wasn’t content with just sitting on the sidelines and letting all of these atrocities go to waste. He made this decision to include political humor in his routine around the time that America went to war with Vietnam and when Martin Luther King, Jr. and John F. Kennedy were assassinated. His political routines didn’t come without punishment, however. He was arrested several times for his use of vulgar language and even received death threats from irate fans. Carlin continued to press on and ignore the hatred from his conservative critics. Around the 1980’s, his political humor became more refined because he actually went to libraries and did research. It was due to this that his rant against Ronald Reagan was so well received by his audience. From that point on, he got more sadistic in his routines and began to incorporate dark comedy. The “Entropy Fan” skit was a prime example of how sick and twisted he could become. Through all of this evolution, it seemed as though Carlin’s words would resonate throughout history as being not only funny and enjoyable, but thought-provoking as well. But there’s a reason why this book was called “Last Words” and it’s because they really are his last words. In 2008, Carlin died due to heart problems and the world became much colder than it already was. If I could say something to Carlin right now, I would thank him for all of those decades of giggly moments and for being a huge influence on my writing. Truth be told, during my free time I actually practice famous George Carlin routines so that I can perform them in front of my family. How’s that for dedication?

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Nobody would boil a lobster alive if it looked like a puppy.”

-George Carlin-