Jimmy Kimmel vs. Sean Hannity

 

Lucia Morgan from Final Fight 3 vs. Jordan Peterson

 

Bullet With a Name On It

…I’m not a violent person. I don’t carry a gun with me at all times. The last time I got in a fight was in high school. It was a miserable defeat to a guy who mounted my chest and punched me so many times that I got a black eye, numb cheeks, and chewing difficulties. One of the administrators cracked a terrible joke about how I was a lover and not a fighter. I’d expect that kind of humor in the UFC or WWE, but not at school. But I suppose there was some truth in that joke, because ever since that day, I’ve responded to any amount of stress the same way: freezing like Walt Disney eating a popsicle in the middle of a tundra. Fight and flight are gone. Freezing is all that remains. Staying perfectly still and not being confrontational is supposed to be a survival mechanism. But what am I surviving?

 

While I don’t have a violent life or a criminal history of any kind…I have so many violent thoughts swirling in my head. So many people have taken advantage of my freezing response and said whatever the hell they wanted, like the first amendment was made specifically for assholes. No amethyst colors here, just red, white, and blue. I’ve been fat-shamed, called the R-slur, called a pussy for not joining the military, I’ve had slanderous rumors spread about me, and I’ve been accused of laziness when I didn’t want to get a job and go to school at the same time. These people who abused their first amendment rights…they bear the brunt of these violent thoughts. So...many…violent…thoughts…

 

Punches in bunches. Sprawling and brawling. Knees to the face. Kicks to the balls. Maybe a piledriver if I’m feeling strong that day. Hell, let’s go full UFC and throw in a rear naked chokehold. In my brain I’m undefeated, even against well-trained marines and martial arts blackbelts. I justify these victories by saying, “Whose dick did they have to suck in order to get those accolades?” I’m sure they can explain the bruises on their faces, but how will they explain the bruises on the inside of their mouths to their dentist? Dentists can tell what you’ve been up to in the bedroom. Or under the sensei’s desk, wherever you feel more comfortable.

 

But it’s not just unarmed brawling that I fantasize about. Sometimes I’m armed and dangerous. Sometimes I’ve got a big fucking knife. Sometimes I justify those knife victories by saying, “A blackbelt doesn’t give you puncture-proof skin.” Come to think of it…what is a blackbelt good for anyways? Holding up your pants so that we don’t have to look at your Sailor Moon crotchless panties? That kind of intimate wear would never withstand a few strokes from a big ass knife. And neither would your skin. Just hack, slash, hack, slash, an arm there, a leg there, a throat somewhere else, and a glorious bloodbath that will never make me want to shower ever again.

 

But why is it just melee ranged weapons? Why I can’t I shoot a gun? Surely, it can’t be that hard to shoot a gun. It’s like using America Online: point and click. Maybe I’m oversimplifying complicated technology, but remember, it’s my brain, I’m undefeated. If some bozo driving an obnoxiously large truck drives by me and shouts the F-slur, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it. It’s weird to think about, because in order to have a bullet with somebody’s name on it, I have to know that person’s name. Drive-by loudmouths don’t give you their name or any information about them. That’s a big part of what makes them cowards. Not only do they shout their shit, but they drive away before facing any real consequences. Sure, your truck has a badass engine, but can your truck outrun a bullet? Will a V8 engine matter if there’s a bullet in the gas tank? Will all the horsepower in the world matter if the bullet shatters glass and that glass cuts you up? And what good is driving a truck if the driver gets shot and the vehicle flips on its back? Drive-by loudmouths don’t think about these things in advance. Then again, I wouldn’t call anything they do thinking.

 

Violent fantasies are so much fun to have. I love bathing in blood. I love listening to screams. I love the symphonic melodies of bones snapping and organs sloshing. I love listening to my insulters plead for their lives only to lose them anyways. But it’s important to remember that these are fantasies. They don’t exist outside of my brain. If they did, there would be serious consequences. Seeing this many dead bodies would break so many hearts. I’d have my own broken heart as I sit alone in a prison cell with regret on my mind. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life with an imagination: fantasy and reality are not one in the same. That’s why people caution against porn being unrealistic. Porn isn’t designed to tell a realistic story. It has one purpose: to help masturbators achieve an orgasm by any means necessary. If you can’t separate fantasy from reality, you’re already waiting to get fucked.

 

So go ahead and listen to gangsta rap on repeat. Dream of killing your enemies in cold blood. Drink that cold blood like it’s as refreshing as Coca-Cola. Hell, you can even write about some of these daydreams in your stories if you’re an author of some sort. But that comes with its own set of responsibilities. As authors, everything you put on the paper is held in high esteem. Your readers will take everything you say literally and they’ll apply it to their own way of thinking. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but they are impressionable. If you’re being held up as an arbiter of truth and you tell a bunch of violent or sexual lies, that’s going to have a bad influence on your readers. Think of all the BDSM rookies who wound up in the hospital after reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Think of all the women who will get pregnant because of birth control misinformation in The Missus, which is written by the same author. You can have your bloody fantasies on paper, but don’t lead your audience astray.

 

If you’re watching Quentin Tarantino movies, don’t duct tape your enemy to a chair and cut his ear off while dancing to 70’s music. If you’re watching WWE television from the 2000’s, don’t simulate sex with a corpse as a way of insulting someone who wronged you. If you’re watching Mind of Mencia and I hope to god you’re not, don’t throw racial slurs haphazardly and then later wonder why you’re being “canceled”. And by the way, cancel culture isn’t real. If you write a shitty story chock full of irresponsible violence and rape, your audience has the right to react in a negative way, because criticism isn’t censorship. Criticism is the other half of free speech.

 

If you must have violent fantasies, reign them in. Don’t unleash them out into the real world. If you’re a peaceful guy in real life, but you have violent fantasies, don’t let anybody judge you for it. Truth is, everybody thinks about violence at least once in their life. At least once, don’t let them lie to you. Nobody’s this candid about their violent fantasies, but we all have them. Some are more mild than others, but they still exist. It’s a normal part of the human experience. Thinking about something is a healthy way to process it. Thinking is the best way to travel. Doing these things in real life will cause so much heartache, for you and your victims. And for the love of god…don’t join the military just because you happen to be good at playing Halo.

Lacy Yang Strikes Again

ACT I

She stands like a halfling, walks like a giant

Forget the kid shit, ‘cause she’s self-reliant

Learned capoeira from the masters of old

Spin-kicking heads until bodies turn cold

Practice on scarecrows, theory on the dance floor

Helicopter kicks and through the air she soars

But no matter how many bones she breaks

There’s always some jerk-ass who calls her a fake

ACT II

Her name is Lacy Yang, but they call her baby girl

And a bunch of other sweet names to make her hurl

She ain’t tall enough to ride the rollercoaster

They say she’s just small enough to fit inside a toaster

As she sipped her hot tea at the capoeira café

She tried to push these thoughts so far away

Until a forty-something with white in his hair

Drunkenly tried to get inside her underwear

ACT III

He’s got Reese’s Pieces and Peanut Butter Cups

A van full of toys and a ranch full of puppy-dups

Lacy Yang told this pervert to fuck off

Two middle fingers for the incel suck-wad

A slap across her face, a prelude to a spanking

Easily forgetting her martial arts ranking

She tied up her dreadlocks in a giant knot

“Come on, you pedo, show me what you’ve got!”

ACT IV

Cartwheeled out of the way of a punch

Flipped off the table, landed with a feather’s touch

He went for a kick, didn’t protect his dick

Lacy threw a crescent heel, sent him spinning like a wheel

Some kangaroo stomps for his bits and pieces

Dragon uppercut to unleash his loose feces

Head butt to the jaw for breaking molestation laws

Knocked the fuck out, the winner wasn’t in doubt

CONCLUSION

David and Goliath is one hell of a legend

Lacy Yang’s story is worth more than a mention

Let this be a lesson to the wicked and dangerous

May you get your ass kicked from Earth to Uranus

Run Like a Ninja

The growling in Ashley Garcia’s stomach resembled a demon thirsting for souls. She didn’t care if what she was doing was just as evil as that hell-spawn creature. A bowl of steaming hot ramen took priority over holy-rolling. A loaf of bread swimming in garlic butter was more important than praying on a medieval book for forgiveness. The rumbling in her stomach echoed in her brain like schizophrenia and even a wafer-thin mint would be a perfect antipsychotic. The rattling of her visible ribcage needed to be contained for good and the sacred scroll beneath her would be the key to that lock.

Being a Halfling afforded her the dexterity and balance that she needed to scale down the rope she threw down into the temple’s scroll room. Ashley didn’t want to go too fast for fear of alarming any monks, but slowing down wasn’t an option for her calloused hands and large dirt-covered feet. Just a few more inches, she told herself. A little more. Easy. Easy. Don’t make a sound. Don’t give the monks a reason to wheel kick a thief’s head off.

When she was close enough to drop to the wooden floor, she did so with a feather’s gentleness and breathed a silent sigh of relief. And just like that, the scroll was right there in front of her, resting easily on a piece of ceramic pottery. Ashley’s eyes widened and her hungry stomach settled in anticipation of the lunch money this would bring. When she snatched the scroll from its resting place, she didn’t even bother opening it up. She knew she had what she wanted. She knew any sucker would be lucky to buy such a holy artifact. Ashley would never starve again with this kind of money and that brought a smile to her gaunt face.

And then the sound of a dog growling permeated her fantasies and caused her to swallow a lump in her throat. Slowly she turned around to face the monk she pissed off the most: the captain of the guards himself, Yang Chow. 

He didn’t come armed with any weapons, because his limbs were destructive enough. He didn’t come with any harsh words, because his angry bulldog visage and monstrous growling said everything they needed to say. He didn’t come dressed in thick metal armor, because his red and orange robes were light enough to keep him nimble during times of combat. With his arms folded and his gorgon death eyes locked onto Ashley’s jittery form, it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.

Scroll tucked away in her back pocket, Ashley hopped up the rope and scaled as fast as she could. All the motivation to push her body beyond its limits came in the form of Yang barking up a storm and snapping his teeth like a bear trap. She was almost certain she would lose a foot to this maniacal dog demon. She was almost certain a piece of skin fell from her big toe. But she kept climbing even if it meant aggravating that wound and making it sting like a thousand wasps.

Ashley cursed to herself in a rapid-fire cadence as she made it to the rooftop, Yang still nipping at her heels. With the diagonal curvature of the temple’s roof, she knew this was a perfect time to curl into a ball and roll down the decline like a rogue wheel. And off she went, the shingles scraping against her skin the faster she rolled. Her back burned as though a volcano would erupt from her body, which was a better fate than having her head kicked off by a martial arts puppy-duppy. Still, his barks were no less distant than they were before. They just grew louder and more frustrated.

And then the sudden incline at the bottom of the roof launched her wheel-like body into the air and onto the busy streets below. Ashley landed with such grace that going splat on the concrete wasn’t even a possibility. But the minute she leapt to her feet, dizziness turned her brains into mush and her vision into a splotchy mess. She would have fallen on her ass if not for Yang’s barks becoming even louder than before. 

Even in a sloppy zigzag, she ran down the streets with the agility of a ninja warrior. She flipped over garbage cans. She baseball slid underneath an old man’s legs. She leapfrogged over a food delivery bicyclist and nearly knocked him over. Knowing Yang could chew her like bubblegum gave her the adrenaline boost she needed to run along the walls of a restaurant before flipping over a trolley.

Her heart thudded in her chest like a bomb ready to go off. Her brains rotted into mush on account of not giving herself a chance to recover from dizziness. Her legs and back burned as though someone had branded her with a glowing red iron. Her feet could have fallen off long before she got gangrene from not wearing shoes. And yet, Ashley kept on running and dodging. She leapfrogged over another bicyclist. She flipped over a guardrail. She ran along an awning that almost collapsed under her thunderous force.

Ashley had no destination in mind. She couldn’t even think clearly enough to come up with one, because Yang’s barks and growls were like a screwdriver shoved in her ears. When her eyes watered to the point of blindness and her mind faded to funeral blackness, she crashed face-first into a brick wall and flopped on her back, the sacred scroll rolling out of her grasp. The sound of her nose crunching resembled potato chips she would probably never know the taste of. She breathed heavily despite blood running down her nostrils. If overworking herself didn’t kill her, Yang surely would.

Her vision was obstructed by the heavy pus dumplings under her eyes, but even she knew Yang’s angry face when she saw it. There he was standing over her soon-to-be corpse, arms folded, scroll in hand. He reached down to Ashley, presumably to rip out her heart. Or the least likely scenario of them all, to pull her up to her feet. She could barely stand underneath the weight of body-shredding pain. She couldn’t even look Yang in the eyes, blackened pus pockets aside.

“Aren’t you at all curious as to what this scroll says?” asked Yang in an uncharacteristically soothing voice.

Ashley’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Um…what?”

“You mean to tell me that you stole this scroll from my temple and you don’t even know what it is?” Ashley tucked her head in shame. “Look at me, young lady.” Yang opened the scroll and revealed that they were coupons for restaurant food. Five gold pieces for two octopus burgers. Ten gold pieces for a gallon of broccoli cheese soup. Two packages of beef stew and rice for only one gold piece. Shame hit Ashley in the gut worse than any martial arts punch from Yang would have…even though she no longer expected him to beat her ass.

Yang knelt down to meet her Halfling level and put a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Young lady…you didn’t just steal a document hoping for a quick buck. You did it at the expense of other impoverished people like yourself. The temple where I work isn’t just a religious institution. It’s a shelter for those who need it the most. If you wanted the coupons, we would have shared them with you.”

Ashley’s tears stung her pus lumps like a scorpion tail. “I…I’m sorry…I’ll just…I’ll find another way to…” 

“Enough. I don’t need your apologies. I wouldn’t know what to do with them anyways.”

“What?...What do you mean?”

“Young lady…what you did was as rotten as the food you find the dumpster. It was evil. It was low even for a desperate street thief like yourself.” Ashley’s tears developed into little floods to mix with her nose blood, giving her the ultimate mask of guilt, shame, and defeat. But then Yang said…”I understand why you did it.”

“Huh? You do?”

“You think you’re the only one to try and steal from us? Look around you, young lady. The economy doesn’t favor the poor at all. Impoverished folk are unfairly categorized as lazy while the rich who live off of their backs are lionized to god status. To take the focus away from their own horrific deeds, the rich have the poor fight amongst themselves, steal from each other, treat every meal like it’s a competition. Stealing is the only life you’ve ever known, because you have no other way.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, dog man. I doubt you would trust me again if you knew what I was capable of. I’ve slit many throats just to stay alive. How do you know I won’t slit yours?”

“My martial arts training aside, you know deep down that slitting my throat wouldn’t bring you closer to another meal. Prison food doesn’t count. You deserve better than a prisoner’s life, young lady. When was the last time you even experienced a loving home?”

Ashley swatted Yang’s hand away. “Love? You think love is going to give me something to eat every day? You think it’s going to keep me from sleeping in a dumpster? What makes you think love is going to do anything for me?”

Staying true to his bulldog nature, Yang licked the tears and blood off of Ashley’s face, which made her produce even more tears. The more Yang licked, the more pieces Ashley’s heart broke into, which was saying a lot considering the near-death exercise she put herself through. In a rare act of gratitude and love, Ashley hugged her stubby arms around Yang’s neck, breaking into a full-on crying spell over his orange and red robe.

“Thank you, dog man. Thank you so much! Please, don’t leave me here!”

“I won’t, young lady. In spite of what the privileged believe, nobody gets left behind on my streets. Come with me. Let’s get some food in your stomach.”

The dog monk and Halfling thief walked hand in hand together, Ashley’s waterworks never once drying up. In a world that didn’t care about her, she found someone who did. Life was very much worth living even though she had to learn how to do so all over again. There would be no more thievery and dishonesty, because they weren’t necessary in a truly loving home.

Easy Kill

 CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 1

You got your black belt in Brazilian jujitsu

From a guy who teaches class on French ninjitsu

You’re the master of the art of Mexican kung fu

But when you ask for a medal, they say, “Fuck you!”

The only ring that you’ve ever been inside

Was the one that made your cock stand up with pride

Your chin is made of glass, knocked out on your ass

You’re the same as every slacker in junior high gym class

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 2

You have thousands of confirmed kills in the army

But you had a bazooka, they had rakes for farming

I bet if I melted down your precious combat medals

I couldn’t buy a candy bar or coffee for the kettle

I’d pay for your medicine, but you voted against it

Because you want to be a good Confederate descendant

What’re you going to do when your leg snaps in half

When you run a marathon from your problematic past?

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 3

Your life is like an arcade continuation screen

You’ve got ten seconds to put more coins in the machine

But even with another life, fighting games don’t teach

All the macho manliness that you love to fucking preach

EXTENDED CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

Everyone’s undefeated until they lose clean

From a head kick turned horror movie scene

Everyone’s a champion ‘til the belt is gone

An easy kill like you could never last long

Crippled

“Where the hell is the goddamn delivery boy?” asked Joe Herzog as she laid in bed with ice on her swollen knee. The ice did a tremendous job of numbing her pain. Getting pissed off over a late breakfast burrito did not, as evidenced by her hissing noise. “Why does the damn tournament have to be a week away? This is horseshit! All that work for nothing!” She pounded her mattress and sent another jolt through her leg. “Damn it!”

Figuring it wasn’t a good idea to wait in bed for the delivery boy, Joe wrapped her knee in a heavy black bandage and hobbled out of the bedroom wearing just a white T-shirt and blue sleeping shorts. Every hop had her mumbling, “Ouch!” in a low, grumpy voice. Anybody who made it to the finals of a martial arts tournament only to go down with an injury would be grumpy as well.

Her tiny gnome body made looking at her hallway of trophies and medals a chore. Twisting her neck backwards just to look at second place accolades made her shake her head in disgust. “This is bullshit…this is fucking bullshit…” She resumed mumbling, “Ouch!” as she hobbled down the hall of shame and into the living room.

Resting across her tree stump table was a blue karate dress, one she wouldn’t be wearing again for a long time. Joe wiped away a singular tear with her finger before hobbling and cursing towards the table. “I should probably just set this damn thing on fire. Besides which, who the hell wears a dress into combat? It ain’t like…” She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror and frowned at what she perceived to be a lack of beauty. Joe sighed and sat down on her eiderdown couch. “I’ll get rid of that damn dress some other time. Goddamn knee injury…”

All Joe wanted to do was close her eyes and relax until her food got here. The throbbing and pulsating of her knee kept her eyes wide open no matter how comfortable she tried to make herself. And then…there was a knock on the door. More like a feverous pounding that got louder every time Joe tried to ignore it. “That better be my food or else I’m jamming this good for nothing leg up someone’s ass.”

The pounding of both Joe’s heart and front door resumed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” She hobbled over to the rune-covered entrance, where the pounding grated on her ears some more. “I said I’m coming, damn it! This better be good!” Reaching for the doorknob on her tippy-toes, she almost fell over as she swung the door wide open. “It’s about damn time! Uh-oh…”

It wasn’t a delivery boy. The only food this man was carrying was in his wide gut, about three hundred pounds worth. The scaly orange skin, the dragon-like face, the rotund frame, and the jeans held up by suspenders. A cold sweat broke out over Joe’s face as she fell backwards, giving her a better view of “The Chiropractor” Bargon Sevili. The moniker was silly to her until she remembered that amateur wrestling was his strong suit. She swallowed a lump and said, “Bargon…wha…what are you doing here? The finals aren’t until next week.”

Bargon leaned his drooling face down and said in a deep, raspy voice, “Yes, I know!” He slathered his tongue across his already slimy lips. “Sweet gee-nee girl! Lovable midget pie! Love muffin! Come here and let me…”

Joe screamed in terror before he could finish his cutesy-wutesy sentence. She scrambled to get back up on one leg, but kept falling over and sending more shockwaves through her crippled knee. Her clutches and whiny screams didn’t earn enough sympathy from Bargon to get him to wipe his smile off of his face. In fact, his deafening footsteps on the stone floor made Joe’s head throb worse than her knee.

Instead of trying to get up, Joe crawled across her filthy stone floor using just her elbows to drag her little body. Bargon took his sweet time in approaching his opponent, though the thudding of his boots didn’t help in giving Joe any comfort. She crawled so quickly that cuts and bruises formed on her arms. She swung her bedroom door open and crawled some more.

With adrenaline flooding her system like a biblical disaster, she endured even more scrapes as she hurried over to her wooden chest. She nearly popped her arm out of her socket reaching for the latch, but open it she did. Joe stood up on both legs, her sense of urgency allowing her to numb out her knee pain. The faster she dug through her belongings, the louder the footsteps pounded. Her hands shook as she fiddled with a metal object and some tiny shells.

She loaded the shells into her single barrel shotgun as fast as she could, though not without having to pick them up after dropping them repeatedly. “Guess who, sugar britches!” Bargon taunted in his saccharine ogre voice. Joe didn’t give a shit about her knee anymore. She stood terra firma in the center of her room locked and loaded, her bruised arms still trembling with fear.

The minute Bargon kicked the door open and said, “Ta-da!”, Joe pulled the trigger. She needed this easy victory over someone who was supposed to wait until next week to fight her. She needed to be in first place for once in her life. But the shotgun jammed and blew her backwards, sending her crashing through her glass window and into the grass. Shards ripped at her flesh. Her arms were embedded with glass. Her knee pain flared up to infernal levels. Little droplets of blood stained the grass beneath her. She whined and cried like the second place loser she was.

Even on soft grass and dirt, Bargon’s footsteps grew more obnoxious the closer he got to his victim. He had to squeeze his wide ass through the broken window, but he arrived at his destination all the same. He held the shotgun over Joe’s blood-covered face and snapped it over his knee. He discarded the broken pieces and dusted his hands off like it was nothing. Leaning his head down so that he could be eye-level with Joe, he said, “Give me your knee, you sweet piece of pumpkin pie!”

“Oh god…Oh my god…Please, just get it over with. Anywhere but the knee. Literally anywhere else!”

Despite Joe’s pathetic begging, Bargon indeed grabbed her by the injured leg, causing her to cry out in agony. After picking off a few pieces of glass and getting even more ocular juices out of Joe, he asked, “Are you ready, little darling?”

“…As ready as I’ll ever be…” whimpered Joe as she covered her face with her scarred arms.

“Good, because this is going to hurt like a bitch!” Bargon made good on his promise. He yanked on the injured leg and had Joe yelling in a high pitched, demonic tone.

It did hurt like a bitch. It was the most agonizing thing Joe had been through. But the best part about it? It only hurt for a few seconds. And then the pain was gone. Was she in heaven? Was St. Peter already opening the pearly gates for her? No, she was still on planet earth outside her home. She uncovered her face and wiggled her leg. No pain. She knew the injury was still there, but she didn’t feel like dying afterwards. “You…you really are a chiropractor? Um…uh…thanks?”

Bargon grabbed Joe by her shirt and leaned in so that they were nose-to-nose. His breath radiated with skunk odors, probably due to him not brushing his fangs in a long time. “I don’t need your thanks, Joey-Bowie. All I need from you is to be one hundred percent in the finals next week. That way, when I beat the living piss out of you, there’ll be no excuses. No knee injuries, no glass shards, no bullshit. If you lose to me and get second place again, you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself. You got it?” He threw her against the grass and said, “See you next week, sugar plum” before blowing her a kiss and walking away.

Any gratitude Joe felt for her opponent twisted in the wind when she noticed a foil-wrapped burrito sticking out of his back pocket. “Hey! That’s my breakfast, you asshole!”

Bargon pulled the burrito out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and took a massive bite out of it. With a full mouth, he said, “It’s my breakfast now! Besides, if you want to beat me in the finals and be a winner for the first time in your mediocre career, you’ve got to eat better than this. You’re getting a little chunky around the belly. See you soon!”

As the demonic ogre walked away, Joe clenched her fists and stood up, her knee staying pain free the entire time. She wasn’t thinking about burning her karate dress anymore. She wasn’t looking at her second place accolades with scorn. After a morning like this one, Joe Herzog had all the motivation she could ever want. She would train as hard as she damn well could. She would pump more iron, run more laps, and beat the training bag like it owed her a breakfast burrito.

With her muscles bulging and the shaky adrenaline morphing into raw anger, Joe shouted out, “You should have killed me when you had the chance, you fat pig! I’m not just going to beat you in the finals! I’m going to destroy your career! You hear me, Bargon Sevili?! You’re a dead motherfucker!” Joe raised her fists to the sky and let out a primal scream to anyone who would listen, letting them know that motivation was not an issue anymore.

Beach Ball Z

“Ladies and gentiles! The summer season is here and you know what that means: beautiful sunshine, beautiful women, and beautiful ass-beatings! If you’re ready to watch Zoku and Jeeta beat the living hell out of each other, let me hear you scream!” The bombastic announcer got just what he wanted from the crowd at Takanori Beach: loud, energetic, beastly cheers from a pumped up audience.

While Zoku stood in one corner of the ring egging on the crowd with waves of his arms and a shit-eating grin, Jeeta stood in the opposite corner with his arms folded and a gorgon death stare locked on his opponent. I will end you once and for all, Karrottop. Jeeta refused to call Zoku by his government name. It was a matter of pride in the Sojo race, which both Zoku and Jeeta belonged to. That was all they had in common that day, spiky hair and monkey tails be damned.

Jeeta’s jaw tightened in annoyance not only with Zoku’s pandering to the crowd, but also the fact that the announcer in an obnoxious yellow suit refused to shut the hell up as he named off various sponsors for this fight. One of the products was for a pesticide spray that targeted cockroaches, which seemed appropriate considering Jeeta’s thoughts on the announcer. Another product was for Marlboro Cigarettes, though Jeeta considered the announcer’s voice to be more toxic than anything a tobacco company could produce. And the other one was…

“Shut the fuck up and get on with it!” shouted Jeeta, firing a laser beam from his fingertip at the microphone and shattering it into pieces. The audience gasped in horror while the announcer nearly wet himself as he wiggled his hand in pain.

Only then did Zoku get serious about this fight. He unleashed a mile long stare straight into Jeeta’s soul, though the latter responded with a sadistic smile rather than quaking in his boots. As soon as the announcer high-tailed it out of there, the two warriors met in the center of the stone ring and continued staring daggers into each other’s eyes. Zoku cracked his neck on both sides while Jeeta popped his knuckles and wrists even louder.

The audience remained stunned in silence after the microphone was destroyed, but instantly picked back up into high gear once the battle music played over the surround-sound speakers: a heavy metal tune called “X” by HELLYEAH.

That was the warriors’ cue to get in their fighting stances and surround themselves in glowing gold aura. Zoku’s spiked purple hair and green martial arts gi flapped and fluttered in the energy-induced wind while Jeeta’s green spiky hair did the same. Jeeta’s purple Sojo armor clung tightly to him as it was his last line of defense against this suddenly serious-looking fighter standing across from him. Now the audience would see who the real badass was.

When HELLYEAH’s lead singer Chad Gray burst into a fit of heavy metal screams, that served as a cue for Zoku and Jeeta to stop powering up and commence the ass-beatings. Before the first punch was thrown, an inflatable beach ball bounced off of Zoku’s face and he was back to his goofy smiling self.

Jeeta on the other hand expressed his rage with an ursine growl and a hard stomp of the beach ball, popping it like he wished he could have popped Zoku’s dome right at that instance. As the audience erupted into boos, Jeeta pointed at them and shouted, “If I see one more fucking beach ball in that crowd, someone’s getting my boot jammed in their fart box!” Instead of being intimidated, the crowd and Zoku laughed their asses off. The audience even chanted “Fart Box!” over and over again.

“Come on, Jeeta, these guys are having a good time. They paid good money for this. They can do whatever they want!” said Zoku, trying to suppress his laughter to make a point.

“If they want to play with their balls so badly, they can do it behind closed doors like every other pervert out there!” belted Jeeta, earning another round of laughter from the immature crowd. “What the hell are you sacks of protoplasm laughing at now?!”

“Dude, we literally go hunting for Dragon Nuts to make a wish. You don’t get to make testicle jokes.” Zoku couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. He even doubled over and slapped his knees for extra effect. As if Jeeta didn’t have enough reasons to tighten his jaw again, more beach balls were being bounced around within the crowd. “Guys, over here!” Sure enough, one of the audience members bounced a beach ball Zoku’s way and he lightly spiked it back at them.

Jeeta held his head in his hands and attempted to squeeze the headache out like a glob of toothpaste. This sacred fighting tournament had been reduced to childish antics and easy distractions. This was supposed to be the culmination of a heated rivalry between two badass warriors. Instead, they were just “having a good time”. One of the beach balls struck Jeeta in the back of the head and his muscles tightened once more.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with you pieces of shit!” The audience and Zoku watched in awe as Jeeta got into his fighting stance again and weaved golden energy around himself, this time his hair changing colors from green to gold and his spikes standing up straighter. He had gone full Super Sojo and could end this fight with a massive energy blast to his naïve opponent. All of this nonsense could be over in a heartbeat. But then another beach ball bounced off of Jeeta’s head.

Rather than choosing to end this fight, Jeeta flew around the arena and punched the shit out of every beach ball in sight, popping them louder than hand grenades. Children cried. The elderly were on the verge of suffering heart attacks. Mothers and fathers hugged each other and their children for fear Jeeta would commit genocide upon the entire human race. Beach balls exploded left and right until the entire arena was void of distractions. Jeeta had the fearful attention of everyone in sight, including Zoku, who quivered in his green karate trousers.

Slowly Jeeta stalked his opponent, his golden energy glowing brighter and brighter with every angry step taken. Jeeta also formed a monstrous grin as he pantomimed a choke hold with his gloved hands. This would have been sweet comeuppance for a decade-long rivalry. The only way this could have been a more satisfying conclusion was if Zoku shit his pants, which unlike some members of the crowd, he didn’t do…yet. And then…

“I’m sorry, Jeeta,” said the announcer through a new microphone. “The rules clearly state that once you’ve exited the ring, the match is over. This isn’t wrestling and you don’t get a ten count. Therefore, the winner of this match as a result of ring-out: Zoku!”

The crowd erupted into cheers while Zoku pranced and leapt in the air like his disqualification victory was the greatest one he racked up. Jeeta’s jaw went from tensing up to being on the floor. His eyes widened at his own stupidity. All it took for him to lose this match was being distracted by a few beach balls.

As Zoku was being presented with a bronze trophy by some bikini clad ladies, Jeeta once again held everyone’s fearful attention by shouting, “This is bullshit!” He breathed in a raspy voice while tense silence hung over the sandy arena. “This whole thing was a sham from the beginning!” Pointing an accusatory finger at Zoku, Jeeta said, “You put those beach balls there on purpose just so you can get an easy victory! How much did you pay those jackasses, anyways? A hundred? A thousand? A hundred thousand?”

Zoku chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. “More like five hundred thousand.” Jeeta’s jaw was on the floor once again. “Yeah, I kind of had to teach you a lesson there, buddy.”

“A lesson?! There’s not a scratch on me! You didn’t do anything! You just sat there and played with your ball…I mean…you just fooled around throughout the whole match!”

“Exactly! And you took the bait, Jeeta,” said Zoku more confidently with his arms folded. “Whenever we go hunting for Dragon Nuts together, you’re always getting distracted by our opponents taunting you. You don’t know how to control your temper, so it costs us every time. We could have wished for anything we wanted if we had those Dragon Nuts. But somebody else took them away because you were too busy choking on your pride. What would you have wished for anyways? Immortality? A higher power level? A cure for your wife’s cancer?”

The crowd gasped while Jeeta’s golden energy dissipated and his head hung low. Even his spiky hair stopped flapping and returned to its normal green color.

“That’s right, Jeeta, you should be ashamed! You let everyone down at your own expense! It’s sad I had to go through all of this just to teach you that. I would rather you learn this on your own, but you’re too thick-headed!”

The crowd chanted Zoku’s name while the lonely Jeeta let out a sigh, his pride and his ego deflated by words that have never been truer. He had to learn his lesson. He had to turn a new leaf. He couldn’t let it go any longer. But no…He powered up yet again and sent the crowd into a terrified hissyfit. “I’m going to kill you anyways, Karrottop!”

That didn’t happen. A beach ball bounced off of Jeeta’s head and he turned around to pop it. But the minute he bent over, Zoku rushed up and kicked him in the ass, sending him flying through the air. Zoku teleported and double axe handled Jeeta in the back, kneed him in the stomach, and punched the shit out of him until Jeeta’s body launched into the sand like a lawn dart, his legs sticking out and kicking frantically.

“Get me out of here!” shouted Jeeta with a mouthful of sand.

“Sorry, Jeeta…I can’t help you anymore. You couldn’t even help yourself. You fell for the same trick over and over again and didn’t learn anything. Now I’m fucking the porn stars and you’re getting the crabs!”

The audience laughed as crabs came up to Jeeta and pinched his legs, causing the prideful Sojo to scream and yelp more painfully than when Zoku was pounding him. The only reason the crabs left Jeeta alone was because the tide came pouring in, adding some gurgles and bubbles to his already muffled dialogue. Jeeta did manage to get one piece of coherent dialogue out before he was declared the ultimate loser: “I FUCKING HATE BEACH BALLS!”

Crawl and Brawl

CHORUS

Ten thousand punches, tenderized lunches

Ten thousand crunches, bones break in bunches

Ten thousand kicks from the six-six-six

Crawl and brawl, bitch, crawl and brawl!

VERSE 1

A super-kick party’s got nothing on this

Ten thousand uppercuts, death match bliss

Taking razor wire and wrapping those fists

Someone’s getting killed, somebody’s pissed

Steel cage couldn’t contain all the bloodshed

A prison riot? We ain’t fucking done yet

Every last dumb shit is waiting to get beaten

Every last dead body is waiting to get eaten

CHORUS

Ten thousand punches, tenderized lunches

Ten thousand crunches, bones break in bunches

Ten thousand kicks from the six-six-six

Crawl and brawl, bitch, crawl and brawl!

VERSE 2

A Florida gator will feast on all the haters

A Burmese tiger will bring the fucking fire

An African rhino will gore you in the gut

Trample your ass into the bubbling mud

You picked the wrong fight for tonight

The holy preacher will speak your last rites

The undertaker will take you to your maker

Crawl and brawl until you all fucking fall

CHORUS

Ten thousand punches, tenderized lunches

Ten thousand crunches, bones break in bunches

Ten thousand kicks from the six-six-six

Crawl and brawl, bitch, crawl and brawl!

VERSE 3

A golden belt means less than a human pelt

A gold medal will not bring the heavy metal

A trophy cup will not make them shut up

Snuggle with severed heads when going to bed

A bloody dream will make your genitals cream

In the real world, they scream like little girls

Only a true warrior can make the world cry

As they watch their heavyweight champions die

FINAL LINES

Crawl and brawl! X4

Psycho Crusher

VERSE 1

My psycho power knows no limits

Wreck your ass within just a minute

Steal your soul in a ritual so dark

Your new nickname is The Human Scar

CHORUS

Psycho Crusher! X4

VERSE 2

Throw your fireballs all you desire

Throw your lightning kicks until you tire

A hundred hand slap could finish any fight

But victory is mine even if only for tonight

Meet me in Thailand for the final round

Throw punches so hard, they shake the ground

This world is mine to conquer and rule

You’re a worthy opponent, but a blind fool

CHORUS

Psycho Crusher! X4

M. BISON QUOTE

Get lost! You can’t compare with my powers!

VERSE 3

You trained your ass off to get to this point

But in the end, your battle cries are white noise

Your hurricane kicks are just cheap ass tricks

Your dragon punches make me fucking sick

You never stood a chance in my tournament

You plead for mercy without earning it

Better luck next time, you second rate hack

Try again when you’re not lying on your back

CHORUS

Psycho Crusher! X4

M. BISON QUOTE

Anyone who opposes me must be destroyed!

Tap Out Like a Bitch

OPENING LINE

Shinbone to the dome when your mama ain’t home!

VERSE 1

I see you standing across from me

A flying knee to put you to sleep

A chokehold to cut you so deep

No more breaths, your soul flies free

It’s been coming for so damn long

Think being a bully makes you strong?

Kick you hard right in the dong

Make you sing a soprano song

CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch! X2

VERSE 2

Giving black belts to pricks like you

Setting the bar lower than your shoes

Sell your medal for a buck and some change

Buy one Band-Aid for your sham pain

I’ve got nothing to prove, Mr. UFC

I’m an open book, yeah, you know me

You’re the one with the big façade

Telling everybody you’re a kind of god

CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch! X4

BRIDGE

Take the loser’s purse before it gets worse

Walk the exit ramp and take in the laughs

Do your interviews, make the world snooze

What’s your latest and greatest excuse?

EXTENDED CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch!

Feel every little stitch!

Go the fuck to sleep!

Watch your kids weep!

Tap out like a bitch!

Scream your highest pitch!

Undisputed, my ass!

Putting you on blast!

Tap! Out! Like! A! Bitch!

"The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" by Max Allan Collins

BOOK TITLE: The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

AUTHOR: Max Allan Collins

YEAR: 2008

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

In the year 200 BC, China’s Dragon Emperor conquered his country with an iron fist and compassion for nobody. Karma would take the form of a sorceress’s curse, which covered him and his army in terra-cotta and banished them in suspended animation for eternity. Fast forward two millenniums and the Dragon Emperor is awakened from his curse by the greedy and zealous General Yang. The globetrotting O’Connell family must now put the mummy back into the ground by stabbing him in the heart with a mystical blade that was guarded for many generations. With an endless supply of firepower and unmatched martial arts skills, the O’Connells truly are the world’s last hope.

Even though this book earned its passing grade (four out of five stars), it’s not without its glaring flaws, particularly in the cheese department. The narrator constantly complimenting the female characters’ beauty, the gratuitous explosions, the sometimes off-color use of similes and metaphors, the instant chemistry between Alex O’Connell (the son) and Lin (Chinese tomb guardian), and the most obvious cheese of all, Alex and his father Rick using penis analogies to describe their submachine guns and pistols. Considering this was once a poorly received movie, I don’t doubt that these cheesy elements turned off plenty of viewers.

But that’s not to say that this book doesn’t deserve the praise it gets. All in all, it’s a fun little book filled with action, adventure, and opportunities for young authors to learn how to write in a fast-paced manner. It turns out that describing every punch and kick within a Jackie Chan-style fight isn’t one hundred percent necessary. In fact, that would take forever and impatient readers like me don’t have forever. We like hard-hitting action. We like hailstorms of bullets. We like tooth and nail struggles that bring the warriors to the edge of death and back again. Although the O’Connell family is blessed with martial arts skills and expensive firearms, they’re no doubt going to earn whatever victories they get. To put it in Rick’s terms, this struggle is going to make them HATE mummies!

The wild imagination of this story is something I also want to praise. Magical elements, bloodthirsty three-headed dragons, barbaric yetis, immortal Chinese warriors, a pool of eternal life, mystical artifacts, this urban fantasy has everything you need in order to get those inner wheels turning. While some of the magical occurrences come off as random at times, they don’t take away from the action or drama of the book and actually make sense in hindsight. Look at it this way: how else is a mere mortal named Rick O’Connell going to beat the crap out of a warrior mummy who won’t stay down? Anybody? Hello? Yes, the dragon dagger comes off as a McGuffin and McGuffins are considered literary sins, but if you’ve got a better way to kill off this seemingly immortal Dragon Emperor, I’d like to hear it.

Sometimes all a reader wants to do is have some fun and you’ll get that with this third installment of The Mummy series. You could also consider seeing the movie this book was adapted from, but diehard readers will want to choose the book instead. The writing style is cinematic in and of itself, so what are you waiting for? Pick up a copy of this four-star book today! Don’t be too turned off by the fact that this story has more cheese than a Domino’s pizza. After all, this kind of cheese would make even a vegan hungry.

Through It All

Even though the armor-donning orc Elijah Heartland was built like a brick wall, the Master Judge always knew how to make his body feel microscopic and his testicles feel like shards of glass. Towering over Elijah at eight and a half feet tall, the golden-armored and powder-wigged Master Judge held his oversized war hammer over the orc’s head as easily as a pool cue and gave him a shiver-worthy evaluation.

“I must say, Elijah,” boomed Master Judge in a god-like voice. “You’ve excelled tremendously during the physical tests to becoming a paladin. Then again, such barbaric violence is always to be expected from a member of your race. You have the strength of a thousand warriors, but not the intelligence or wisdom of them. Ever since these trials began, you’ve been nothing short of an embarrassment to yourself. Your hair-trigger temper and dagger tongue have gotten you into more trouble than you’re worth. I should consider failing you right now!”

Thunder and lightning punctuated the Master Judge’s recent words, which sent Elijah backpedaling on his ass. The gigantic knight continued, “But instead I’ve opted to give you one final test: to confront the scathing ghost of your past. If you successfully complete this test, you will become a paladin and your prison sentence will be expunged. If you don’t, you will rot in solitary confinement for the rest of your waste life. And to think, all of this hateful violence was over a woman. Heh…a woman. Pull yourself together, you imbecile, or this will be the last time you see the light of day!”

A final bolt of lightning crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Without his massive frame to cover Elijah’s field of view, the orc gazed upon the test that lied before him: a heavenly white marble staircase with black hooded ghosts lining either side of it. He wondered if he would become acrophobic at such great heights.

Whatever fear Elijah previously had from being emasculated by the Master Judge disappeared when he stood back up and spit on the ground. He drew his sword thinking he would need it by the time he got to the top. Perhaps he could cut down these hooded ghosts and flee the scene? No, too risky. It wasn’t worth being locked in solitary confinement until the day he died. With furrowed brows and clenched fangs, the orc took his sweet time in ascending the marble stairs.

To his surprise, the ghosts just stood there chanting religious hymns instead of just pounding on him. The Master Judge said it best when he iterated Elijah had the strength of a thousand warriors, but even that wouldn’t be worth banking on against these freaks. The flight of stairs seemed to go on forever, like Elijah had been walking on a conveyor belt. His muscled legs refused to give out, especially when a golden ray of light grew brighter as he neared the top.

What Elijah saw at the platform caused him to lick his lips with violent lust and sharpen his sword with the corner of the stairs: a woman in orange monk’s robes on her knees with shackles pinning her arms to the ground and a black hood over her head. No matter how intensely she struggled, she couldn’t free herself. “You’re making this too easy, Master Judge!” shouted Elijah when he approached the woman and ripped the bag off of her head.

The orc’s scaly green skin turned as white as the marble staircase when he saw who was under the hood. “No…no, this isn’t happening! Shiva?! Is that you?!”

Shiva Terkai was the name given to the purple-haired, porcelain-faced lady who peeked up at Elijah with begging sorrowful eyes. “Please, Elijah. Help me. Don’t leave me here to die.”

Elijah Heartland chuckled and scoffed, “Leave you here to die? The irony is killing me, babe. I wish I had the right to say that when you ran away with that goofy looking shit-weasel you call a human! You ripped my heart out that day, Shiva. I should really be thanking you, though, for making me open my eyes and see the world for the hellhole it is. You human women are all the fucking same!”

“It’s not my fault you turned out this way, Elijah!” belted Shiva. “There’s no rule that says you have to go on a rampage every time some girl breaks your heart! There are other women out there! I bet you would have found one and gotten married if you hadn’t ended up in prison!”

“You would have done the same thing if I found another hot sexy woman while we were dating! I don’t expect you to understand what a broken heart does to people, because you never had a fucking heart to begin with! You think infidelity is okay?! I’m an orc and even I get disgusted by that shit!” shouted Elijah.

“Don’t act like you’re the saint around here! If you hadn’t gone on that rampage when we broke up, you would have done it for some other stupid reason! Your skull is thicker than a fucking brick! You have the temper of a goddamn five year old! How do you expect me to live with someone like you?! Running off with that other man? It would have happened sooner or later, but it didn’t happen soon enough!” snapped Shiva as she wrestled in her shackles some more.

“Why you!” stormed Elijah as he raised his sword to the sky and caused Shiva to flinch. His muscles twitched and pulsated, his pores released a floodgate of sweat, and his fangs could have chewed through stone with how hard he chomped down. This was his chance to exact revenge upon the woman who “drove him nuts”. One slash and her head would roll down the stairs like a keg of whiskey. The seconds he spent frozen in this position seemed to go on forever.

“What are you waiting for, Elijah!” screamed a familiar godly voice. The orc turned his head and saw the Master Judge standing only a few stairs behind him with his arms folded and his steel booted foot tapping. “Go ahead and kill her already! Save us the time of actually having to rehabilitate you into a righteous human being! It’ll be fun watching you squirm and sizzle in solitary confinement!”

Elijah sweated and trembled some more before the Master Judge and his ghost minions removed their hoods. The orc’s eyebrows shot sky high and his eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon when he saw that underneath their hoods, they too were orcs. Scaly skin, wide noses, razor-sharp fangs, but a somehow milder stench than what Elijah was used to. The criminal gulped hard as he still had a decision to make involving the sword in his hands.

“I don’t have all fucking day, Elijah! Kill her already!” shouted the Master Judge. His orc friends chanted, “Kill her!” in succession like they were at a sports bar. The blade was raised, Shiva’s eyes grew damp, and Elijah’s muscles twitched even harder. And then, the blade came down like a bolt of lightning, a heavenly judgment for a “sinful” woman. Except the blade didn’t come down on her neck. He slashed one of the shackles in half and proceeded to slash the other, freeing her from bondage.

The two former lovers hugged it out and dampened each other’s shoulders with tears of joy. The Master Judge, on the other hand, had a face full of red hot lava and the trembling temper of a berserker. By drawing his thumb across his own throat, he signaled for his robed orc cohorts to charge up the stairs and finish the job themselves.

Elijah and Shiva got into their fighting stances and cut the ghostly orcs off at the top of the stairs. Elijah swung his blade at his opponents with rapid precision and a barbarian’s might, severing arms, legs, and heads while turning their bodies into blood bombs. One of the orcs threw a hatchet into Elijah’s arm and caused him to roar in pain. The fiery agony surged through his body for only a few seconds as he ripped it out, licked up the blood like a kissing lover, and slashed that minion’s throat with the same hatchet.

Shiva was a martial artist by nature and threw lightning quick punches and kicks at her opponents, shattering ribs and splitting skulls. Bodies rolled down the stairs and shattered even more bones on the sharp corners.  One of the minions managed to catch her in a bear hug, but she stamped the heel of her foot down on his toes and crunched them all to force his release. She delivered the final blow in the form of a back elbow to the jaw before throwing him across a group of orcs and watching them tumble down the stairs.

Body parts, shattered bones, and squishy organs decorated these once beautiful marble stairs until one orc minion remained. Elijah and Shiva nodded at each other before they both ganged up on him with a stab to the gut and a flying knee to the chest. The final minion sloshed onto the stairs like a puddle of violent pudding. “Enough!” shouted the Master Judge as he held out his hand and collected the spiritual essences of each ghost warrior under his command. Glowing white energy took the place of blood and body parts as it gathered into a silver orb in his hand until the stairs reverted back to their old beauty.

“I told you what was going to happen, Elijah, and by gods be damned, you’re going to get it!” belted the Master Judge as he held out his gigantic war hammer. Elijah and Shiva both stood back in their defensive positions expecting the Master Judge to smash them into bloody morsels. The two even held hands while Shiva whispered, “I’m sorry” and Elijah whispered back, “Me too.” The war hammer was raised high in the sky and brought down in a thunderous fury.

“Congratulations! You’ve passed the final test. I dub thee Sir Elijah Heartland,” said the Master Judge in a gentle voice as he knighted his criminal apprentice with the war hammer. Elijah and Shiva gazed up at their overlord in confusion rather than feeling instant elation. The Master Judge explained, “The paladin trials are just as much of an emotional challenge as they are physical. By sparing Shiva Terkai’s life, you’ve shown her forgiveness. Being able to forgive your enemies is a stronger feat than anything you can do with that blade of yours. The only time you needed that blade was to defend an innocent victim, which you’ve done a marvelous job of. This is what being a paladin is all about: knowing when to strike and when to forgive. Even under my harshest words, you’ve demonstrated that wisdom to a fault. You’re free to go, my friend. May you always walk in the light.”

A lightning bolt crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Elijah and Shiva to stare at each other in awe and wonder. Shiva tried to hold her former lover’s hands, but he pushed them away and said, “We can never have what we used to have. What’s in the past should stay in the past. But if you want, I can walk you home just this one time. After that, we both go our separate ways. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” whispered Shiva while she hung her head. “But if you don’t mind…would it be okay if we…held hands while we walked home? I swear we’ll both go our separate ways, but just this once?”

Elijah sighed, “Sure, why not? Come on, let’s leave this place.” Sure enough the two of them locked their fingers together and descended the marble stairs slowly and carefully. They picked up their pace once the gray clouds gathered overhead and sprinkled some much needed cold rain on their sore skins.

Kickboxer: Vengeance

MOVIE TITLE: Kickboxer: Vengeance

DIRECTOR: John Stockwell

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Martial Arts

RATING: R for bloody violence, mild swearing, and nudity

GRADE: Mixed

Martial arts prospect Kurt Sloane travels to Thailand to exact revenge for his brother Eric after undefeated Muay Thai champion Tong Po kills Eric in an underground fight. Kurt attempts to murder Po in his sleep with a pistol, but gets taken away by the police instead. Kurt’s only chance at avenging his brother is to train with the legendary Master Durand, who initially prepared Eric for his own fight with Tong Po. While all of this is going on, the Thai police are building a case against a fight promoter with corrupt connections to the law. Between Tong Po and Marcia (the crooked promoter), Kurt Sloane has an uphill battle that will see him spill more blood on the canvas than even his own dead brother.

Because this is a marital arts movie with various UFC fighters and former WWE Champion Dave Bautista in starring roles, the obvious positive point of this movie was the high octane violence. Kurt Sloane is a badass warrior, but even he has to succumb to much more powerful fighters in the early going of the movie. The training under Master Durand is no joke: cracking coconuts, bicycling under water, vertical pushups, and of course, getting the crap kicked out of him from time to time by his own teacher. No battle in this movie is gorier than Kurt’s eventual championship fight with Tong Po (it’s not much of a spoiler since even the dumbest viewer can see it from miles away). In that fight, blood splatters the arena like a modern art masterpiece as they get to use glass-covered gloves and katanas. All in all, this is a well-choreographed movie. Every beating Kurt takes both in training and in real fights will shape him to become the ultimate Muay Thai warrior (or he can die trying, one of the two).

And then we have the low points of the movie, most of which include clichés, bad acting from UFC fighters, cheesy dialogue, and characters I couldn’t give a damn about either way. As far as clichés go, there are so many of them peppered throughout the movie: classic revenge tale, training a nobody to become a champion in a short time span, instant relationships, vanilla sex, and lax authority just to name a few. The characters were so badly acted that I couldn’t get emotionally invested in them. I didn’t shed one tear when Eric was murdered by Tong Po. It felt like Eric and all the other characters were just there for the sake of being there. The only performance I could really praise was Dave Bautista as he took the role of the villainous Tong Po. He had the look, the athleticism, and the menacing aura of a warrior, all of which he probably picked up while working with the WWE. Other than that, there’s really nobody to cheer for in this movie.

I’m probably being a little too generous when I give this movie a mixed grade (three stars out of five), but I’m a huge fan of martial arts ultra violence, so that’s pretty much the only thing that saved the movie from being a train wreck. It would be hypocritical of me to disrespect the violence in this movie considering I watch pro-wrestling and mixed-martial arts on a regular basis. The storylines, dialogue, and acting in WWE isn’t always Oscar-worthy, but at least it keeps bringing me back to my TV every Monday and Tuesday. Maybe a mixed grade is appropriate after all.

Wolf's Cannonball

Little Red skipped and hopped through the forest with a wicker picnic basket in hand and a sunshine smile on her face. Her red cloak and hood flapped like a flag in the morning wind while goose bumps formed on her arms from the chilly weather. After a lengthy summer of boiling hot weather, a gentle breeze was most certainly welcome. By the time Red reached the top of the hill, she gazed into the distance with a star-struck expression and said, “My, what big eyes you have! You dead bastard!”

Her innocent aura was replaced with a menacing scowl as she pulled the hood over her face and knelt down to unload her picnic basket. Instead of delicious treats for grandma, Red pulled out pieces of a sniper rifle and assembled them with military quickness. She laid on her stomach and peered through the scope to acquire her target. Even with so many trees standing in her way, the target was as clear as the morning weather. “That bounty money is as good as mine, motherfucker!” she said with a sadistic grin.

Within Little Red Sniper’s crosshairs was the Big Bad Wolf himself, the hairy beast moving gracefully with martial arts movements. Every spin kick and palm strike would have made the legendary Bruce Lee proud. One of his spin kicks managed to slice one of the trees down. The thunderous crash to the ground made Little Red Sniper giggle and shake her head. “Pathetic. That’s what it is,” she said under her breath. “All that kung fu BS won’t mean a damn thing with a bullet in your head.”

After performing his kata, the Big Bad Wolf stood still and breathed intensely to relax his body while he spread his palms out. This wasn’t the kind of breath that could huff and puff and blow somebody’s house down, but it did let Little Red know that he worked hard to perfect his craft despite her unimpressed stare through the scope. The innocent-looking sniper focused her crosshairs right between Wolfie’s eyes and she took the perfect shot.

As the thunderous blast rang out through the forest, Little Red Sniper got up and celebrated her perfect shot with arm swinging dances and moonwalk shuffles. She giggled as she peered through the sniper scope to see just how badly Wolfie’s head exploded. “No fucking way,” she said to herself. “This is some sugar frosted bullshit!”

Wolfie had caught the bullet with his fangs and spit it out like chewed bubblegum. Instead of splattered brains, all she got was a tiny trickle of blood running down his furry chin. The martial arts genius’s deadly grin showed a dark side of him that the public was used to seeing. Even Little Red had been quivering in her boots upon seeing such a vicious expression.

With her rifle still concentrated on the Big Bad Wolf, Little Red slowly backed away while stuttering uh’s repeatedly. The further she backed away, the closer Wolfie got as he power walked across the forest to go in for the kill. Little Red kept backing away until she bumped into a muscular figure behind her and dropped to her knees, losing her rifle in the process.

When Little Red reached over shakily to pick up her weapon, she felt a death grip around the nape of her neck as it yanked her off the ground kicking and screaming. “Put me down, you big oaf! I’ll pop your head open once I get my rifle!” she threatened.

The massive hand turned her around and now she was face to face with yet another razor sharp mouth and bloodlust glare. The orange flannel shirt, the baggy blue jeans, the black combat boots, and the blood-covered axe, not to mention the filthy green skin: they all spelled the presence of Hacksaw the grumpy lumberjack. The orc leaned his face closer to Red’s and said in a throaty voice, “You ain’t gonna do shit!” before tossing her aside easier than a beach ball.

After Little Red bounced off of a tree stump, Hacksaw kicked the sniper rifle away into the nearby bushes while the Big Bad Wolf leapt onto the battlefield with grace and dexterity. Wolfie did some marital arts punches and tornado kicks in the air to warm himself up, but only received a belly laugh from an indifferent Hacksaw. “You think any of that shit’s going to matter once I chop your goddamn head off?” he mockingly asked. “I don’t give a damn about your big bad reputation; that money is mine!”

Hacksaw charged at Wolfie and swung his axe like a barbarian possessed by eye-bulging rage. While that battle was going on, Little Red wiped the dirt out of her eyes and slowly crawled towards the bushes where her sniper rifle was kicked. “Almost there…” she said weakly before Hacksaw accidentally stepped on her hand and made it sound like he walked on packing peanuts.

“Yeouch!” hollered Little Red as she pulled her hand out and felt it pulsate with redness like she was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Watch where you’re stepping, you giant sack of turds!”

Hacksaw grabbed Little Red by her crunchy wrist and slammed her against Wolfie, sending him flying backwards against a tree, which crackled and smashed upon impact. After tossing Little Red aside once again, Hacksaw raised his axe to the sky and shouted, “Yes! That bounty money’s mine! Ha-ha! I did it! Woo!”

Little Red once again attempted to crawl towards her weapon, broken hand and all. This time she was sure she would retrieve it. It was inches away from her good fingertips. Victory would be hers and bullets would fly everywhere in this god forsaken forest. Her fingertips were on the barrel when she felt a hard boot come down across her spinal cord. She yelped in pain and howled like a puppy while Hacksaw pulled her up by her blond locks.

“I’ve had just about all I can stand of you, you crazy bitch!” grunted Hacksaw with his axe raised in the air. “All I wanted was a nice beachside vacation for my family and you’re out here trying to take that shit away from me! That pretty little head of yours is coming off today!”

Little Red spit out blood and protested, “Beachside vacation?! You’re doing all of this to get sand in your ass?! My grandmother has cancer, for god’s sake! Hell, there are lots of guys out there who need that bounty money more than you do! There will always be time to get salt water in your nose and sand in your G-string! My grandmother has six weeks to live! I need this money, damn it!”

“Ah, who cares about that old hag?!” grumbled Hacksaw. “She would have been dead even if she didn’t have cancer! She’s probably so old that she has Jesus on speed dial!”

“So this is it, huh?” said a familiar grunting voice. Once Hacksaw recognized it as an arm-folded Big Bad Wolf, he released his grip on Little Red and allowed her to scoot away while holding her lower back. Wolfie continued with, “You two are finally going to be the ones who take me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit? Of course they’re going to pin it on me. I’m a fucking wolf! Never mind that the two of you are killing each other over some ill-gotten reward. Never mind that children go missing every day around here. Never mind that not one body was found out in these woods. Not one fucking body!”

A beat of silence befell the bounty hunters as their expressions softened and their shoulders slacked. Wolfie wasn’t done yet. “I know how the so-called justice system works. It can’t be called justice at all. The guy with the sharpest teeth and the martial arts skills is automatically guilty despite there being no fucking evidence of any crime. How dare you judge me based on a fake reputation! How dare you come at me looking for a shallow reward! If I wanted to waste my time with you guys, both of you would be dead as fried chicken by now!”

Wolfie stroked his chin and as a light bulb went off in his head. “Come to think of it, there is one technique I’d like to try, but it might actually kill me, it’s so powerful. I’ve been working on it for years. If I could get it right, both of you would be dead ass motherfuckers and I could finally live in peace. Yeah, that sounds about right…I call it the Wolf’s Cannonball!”

Holding her hands up in defeat, Little Red pleaded, “Now listen, Wolfie-Pie: you don’t need to do that shit. Both of us will get out of here and leave you alone. Hell, we’ll probably start a petition to get that bounty off your head. Right, Hacksaw?”

“Wolf’s Cannonball, my ass! I ain’t gonna help him with a damn thing! He needs to die and if you’re too much of a sissy to collect that bounty, I’m going to do it!” shouted Hacksaw as he charged at Wolfie with his axe yet again despite Little Red’s protests.

In defense the Big Bad Wolf backed up Hacksaw by curling into a ball and spinning in the air with mystic blue energy surrounding him. Little Red crawled on the ground like a snail while Hacksaw tripped over everything in fear until he was on his knees crouching into the fetal position. The faster Wolfie spun in the air, the wider the blue energy spread and the tighter Little Red and Hacksaw clutched their prone bodies. In a moment of desperation, the two hunters even hugged each other knowing their financial wishes wouldn’t come true and their lives would be over.

In a blinding flash of blue light, a jet engine wooshing noise flew past Little Red Sniper and Hacksaw and had them screaming like torture victims in hell. They screamed even louder as their skin boiled and their hairs stood up. The energy got hotter and the light was bright enough to damage eyes worse than a solar eclipse. And then…total darkness. All that remained of Little Red and Hacksaw’s pain were migraine-sized headaches and pulsating eyeballs.

“You can let go of me now, Hacksaw,” said Little Red Sniper in a sheepish voice. The orc lumberjack obeyed and the two of them slowly rose to their feet while dusting themselves off. Once Little Red popped her spine back into place, she and Hacksaw saw that the Wolf’s Cannonball had left a deep trail beneath them and that trail was leading into the city. They could see the castle from here as it exploded into a bright blue fire before being sucked up in a gigantic energy beam blasting into the sky.

“So that’s the Wolf’s Cannonball. He didn’t want to use it on a couple of bounty hunters. He wanted to take down the justice system. Eh, makes sense,” said Little Red with shrugged shoulders.

“I bet that castle as a shit load of gold in it somewhere. Government buildings usually do. There’s probably enough in there for both of us to get what we want,” said Hacksaw.

“Are you suggesting that we loot the castle?” asked Little Red in minor shock. Once Hacksaw smiled and winked at her, she smiled back and said, “For the first time in my life, I like the way you think!”

The two bounty hunters wrapped their arms around each other and walked from the scene. Hacksaw asked, “Don’t you want your sniper rifle?”

“Meh. I’ll just buy a new one. Maybe I’ll get a rocket launcher, who knows?” said Little Red nonchalantly.

“I also like the way you think!”

Tiger Bullet Kick

Bob Rua had been through every kind of battle and shed tons of blood in his day, but even he admitted that he hadn’t seen anything yet. There would always be stronger challengers and they would always come in greater numbers. The anthropomorphic tiger wore his battle scars as badges of honor. He purposefully walked around in baggy shorts with no shirt to remind himself of the many hits he had taken. His thick striped orange fur could barely contain the bloody slashes he had endured. Most of his fur was getting grayer with every passing generation. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he would often say to himself.

Old he may be, his job of guarding the Moon Temple Mausoleum was no less important. He patrolled the inside of the stone sanctuary and marveled at the golden treasures buried in caskets with their dead owners. Taking these jewels to the afterlife would make the “clients’” journey into heaven that much richer. Any lowlife bandit who dared rob these caskets would be met with a swift kick to the gut, a punch to the jaw, knees and elbows to wherever Bob felt like throwing them, or he could employ the infamous martial arts technique, the Tiger Bullet Kick.

Bob reflected on all of the times he was forced to use such a brutal maneuver. It not only obliterated anybody who stood in its path, but it took a lot of energy out of the user. Sometimes Bob would be bedridden for three weeks straight after executing the Tiger Bullet Kick. Sometimes he would cough up blood and vomit bile. It was amazing he lived as long as he did. The thought of having to perform such a technique again made him quiver with anticipated sickness and anxiety.

Elderly age afforded him the wisdom to show restraint when it came to the technique. It also caused him to be lost in thought whenever his alertness was needed. It wasn’t until he heard feint whispering that he was snapped out of his old man gaze. With his lantern guiding his way in the dark, Bob shouted out, “Who’s there? Show yourself! Family visitations ended much earlier in the day!”

Bob was getting closer to the source of the whisper and was able to hear that the speaker was using mystical tongues. “Necromancy? Is that why you’re here? Not on my watch, you scoundrel!” The tiger monk’s sandaled feet slapped against the stone floor as hard as they could when he approached the voice further. The whispers grew louder and faster until Bob’s lantern shone on the source.

Standing over a nearby coffin was a woman in red samurai robes with her orange hair pinned in a bun and her arms extended as she was casting her spell. She slowly turned her head around to reveal her monstrous, creepy clown smile complete with sharp teeth, a bloody nose, and bloodshot eyes. Bob let out a small shiver, but at the same time maintained his fighting stance.

“So you’ve come to my temple looking for your own personal minion? You necromancers disgust me! Being dead is hard enough without freaks like you trying to make puppets out of their corpses! I could vomit all over this floor right now!” said Bob.

The clown lady laughed like a horse and arched backwards like Bob’s warning was the greatest comedy in the world. She unsheathed her katana and spoke to him in a raspy voice. “Trust me, tiger man, Viktor the Warlord is hardly the man I came here for! I’ve got much more work to do on these sacred grounds!”

The necromancer samurai licked her blade seductively before leaping into battle with the martial arts tiger. The two warriors threw kicks, punches, and slashes at each other with whooshing sound effects behind them as they dodged like athletes. They continued to fight even faster than before, causing their dodges to resemble acrobatic flips and slides. During one of the slides, Bob Rua slipped on his ass and was vulnerable for a rushing stab from the samurai clown. But as the bladed warrior bolted towards him, he shot right back up and delivered an oxygen-draining spin kick to her stomach, causing her to double over and gasp for air.

 Bob shook out his shoulders and said to his victim, “Is that all you’ve got? Are you going to finish this fight or are you just going to lie down and moan?” The clown’s answer came in the form of mocking laughter, to which the tiger monk marched over to her and lifted her head by her hair. “You think disrespecting the dead is funny? I should snap that skinny neck of yours right fucking now!”

The coffin the necromancer was working on exploded into green fire, knocking pebbles into Bob’s chest and stinging him slightly. Out of the fire came his worst nightmare, Viktor the Warlord, a seven-foot tall mummy wrapped up in filthy tape with maggots crawling all over his rotting purple skin. Viktor’s moans at first sounded like someone getting out of bed on a Monday. The moans then started to become animalistic, like a pack of wolves hungry for meat.

Bob tossed the samurai to the ground and rushed up to Viktor to deliver a furious beat down. His punches were like wrecking balls, his kicks were like sledgehammers, his elbows and knees were like battering rams, but all they did was stagger Viktor a few inches backwards.

The mummy wrapped both of his worm-infested meat hooks around Bob’s neck and hoisted him in the air while squeezing the life out of him. As the tiger man struggled to pry Viktor’s hands off, he threw even more jackhammer-like kicks to the midsection and groin area, but all he did was expend energy and darken his vision even more. Before he could completely fade away, Viktor released his grip and dropped Bob’s nearly limp body to the stone floor, causing him to nearly lose his lunch and his lungs as he coughed violently.

“Come on, tiger man,” taunted the necromancer. “Why don’t you use that Tiger Bullet Kick you’re so proud of. I know exactly who you are. You’re a dying breed of the Rua clan. You’ll probably be dead if you use that Tiger Bullet Kick one more time. Go ahead. Try it. You’re all alone in this temple. Nobody’s coming to help you. It’s do or die, my friend. Mostly just die, but you get what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you sneak out of here with the treasure once I’m dead and gone. Get lost, punk!” said Bob in a raspy voice as he staggered to his feet. This time Viktor grabbed him by the fur on his head and hoisted him high off the floor.

“It’s kill or be killed, Bob! What’s it going to be? You know you want to do it!” taunted the samurai as she did cheerleader-like hops and flips in evil happiness.

Viktor smiled at Bob with worms swirling around his teeth and tongue. His breath smelled like cow shit, almost bad enough to earn himself a KO victory. But then a bright yellow aura glowed around Bob Rua. The light radius grew beyond his prone body and the samurai clown was cheering him on. She knew what was coming and danced around like a madwoman. Viktor challenged him with an even nastier smile and said, “Do it!”

“It could kill me, but I don’t fucking care anymore! Tiger Bullet Kick!” shouted Bob. With fire and light surrounding his legs, he threw one powerful flying kick to Viktor’s chest, sending a heavenly show of golden aura throughout the temple, turning night into day and turning the moon into sunshine. The mummy warlord laughed like the monster he was before turning into a heap of dust and leaving Bob on the ground taking short and weak breaths.

The samurai spun around and tiptoed up to Bob’s lifeless body, to which she saw blood pouring from his mouth and nose. She clapped her hands happily and extended her arms to cast another necromancy spell. After her obligatory haunting whispers, she explained, “Truth is, Bob, I didn’t come here for Viktor the Warlord’s services. He was just a byproduct of a much bigger plot. I came here for you, tiger man. Forever more, you will be my undead minion. You will know your master as the great and powerful Makoto Lionheart, Gatekeeper of Souls. Now rise, you worthless scum! Rise from your slumber so that you may do that lovely Tiger Bullet Kick over and over again! Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you!”

Bob started moaning like he had sleep apnea as he got on his hands and knees and slowly stood up to face his new master. In a zombie-like drone, he said, “I shall do whatever you wish, my lord.” Makoto spun around and cheered to herself while smiling like an innocent child. “There’s just one catch,” Bob said before reaching out and grabbing Makoto by both sides of her head. “I said that the Tiger Bullet Kick could kill me, not that it would.” Makoto trembled in his vice-like grip. “I’m ready for the world’s longest nap. Would you care to join me?”

With his tiger claws buried deep into the sides of Makoto’s head, he spun her skull around multiple times before her neck muscles loosened and her neck bone snapped in two, leaving her a lifeless heap on the floor as soon as Bob released her. The tiger warrior smiled at his handiwork, but not without coughing up chunks of blood and sprawling over the corpse of his victim. As his body relaxed on what might be his last night on earth, he softly said to himself, “Man, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

"Cimarronin" by Neal Stephenson

BOOK TITLE: Cimarronin

AUTHOR: Neal Stephenson

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Historical Fiction

GRADE: Pass

In seventeenth century Philippines, a disgraced samurai named Kitazume is on the brink of slicing his own stomach open in a hara-kiri ritual. His longtime Spanish priest friend Luis convinces him to stay alive long enough to journey to Mexico with him alongside a Chinese princess named Irgen. The three of them are now embroiled in a plot to prevent Spain and China from obtaining silver and slaves in Mexico knowing how much power it would give the corrupt nations. This struggle for supremacy in the new world will be covered in blood, shattered bones, and battlefields full of dead bodies. Kitazume wouldn’t have it any other way if it means he’ll find redemption for his past sins.

The first thing I enjoyed about this graphic novel was the action-packed violence that carried the story from page to page. The techniques the warriors used were reminiscent of something from a Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan movie. In other words, the attacks were fast-paced and technical as opposed to a wild, drunken brawl. The blood splatters and shattered bones were the end result of this delicious violence; R-rated brutality at its finest. Come to think of it, there’s another movie reference I’d like to make when describing the martial arts violence in this book: Kill Bill. If Quentin Tarantino wrote historical fiction graphic novels, he would have had Cimarronin in mind. Action genre lovers will get a huge kick out of reading this book, no pun intended. After all, it’s only entertaining when it happens to samurais and conquistadors, not the reader.

Speaking of violence, it’s also satisfying to see African ex-slaves get revenge on their Spanish conquerors. The way slavery is depicted in this graphic novel is how it should be depicted in all platforms: brutal and heartbreaking. They were branded with hot irons, dumped in the ocean during transit, and treated like disposable trash by their white masters. The slaves have waited years to strike back against their masters. When the violence finally takes place, a gigantic wave of relief will wash over the reader and payback will taste like sweet strawberries dipped in gooey cream. There actually are instances in history of slaves attacking their masters as a means of escape. Knowing this is one of them (even though it’s fiction) will put a sick smile on the reader’s face.

Enough about the violence; let’s talk about history. This is after all historical fiction. The countries of the new world all have a past that should be acknowledged and atoned for when discussing them in high school history classes. These new world conquests wouldn’t be possible without committing genocide on the indigenous people and rebuilding the infrastructure with kidnapped slaves. Some people such as me have no problem acknowledging how shameful of a history we have. Others seem to be proud of it to the point where even today they deny the existence of racism in the modern era. For those on the latter side of the spectrum, I have one question for you. How do you expect to change the world into a better place when you keep repeating history’s ugliest features? Cimarronin isn’t just an action-packed fun-filled rollercoaster ride. It’s a look into the darkest parts of our past for those who probably need their eyelids braced open like Alex from “A Clockwork Orange”.

Cimarronin is a quick and short read that packs a lot of action, drama, and history into that tiny space. A reader could probably blow through this thing in less than twenty-four hours. Is it over too soon? Maybe. Should there be other add-ons to this book? Absolutely. But for now, enjoy the ride while you can. Rollercoasters don’t last forever, you know. A passing grade goes to this deliciously violent and historically poignant piece of graphic fiction.