Kylea Markoff, Paiten's Very Young Mother from "My Favorite Magazine"

 

Grechin Cooley, Benjaman's Divorced Mother from "The King Smells Like Formaldehyde"

 

Katie Miller: Provider of Workers and Soldiers for Our Capitalist Society

 

Anne Wheatstone, Hoity-Toity Matriarch from "The King Smells Like Formaldehyde"

 

Welcome to the World, Gunther Golan

VERSE 1

After nine months of tummies being swollen

Welcome to the world, Gunther Golan

Can’t find your momma? Neither can I

Like a broken resolution, kiss her goodbye

Even I don’t know how you came to me

Must have been a night of drunken misery

But I can’t stand the taste of Budweiser

Another drug kept me from being the wiser

VERSE 2

Sorry for the disappointment, my little guy

Don’t have the patience or money to raise you right

Only resource I have is a life full of baggage

Potential turned to shit like eating too much cabbage

I could get a nice job flipping other people’s burgers

But that won’t offset all my fantasies of murder

Even if I had a million dollars in my bank

The screams still grated, the diapers still stank

VERSE 3

I can’t afford a car to drive you to school

So they give you D’s and C’s and label you a fool

Only option for you is to join the military

Where survivor’s guilt is their burden to carry

Another piece of meat for the sausage grinder

Another statistic in the government binder

This could have been avoided with a simple abortion

But instead the system plotted all this extortion

VERSE 4

After all the trauma and the baby mamma drama

All I had to show was a check from Obama

That was years ago, time flies like a vulture

Makes meals of us all, it’s American culture

We all had dreams at one point or another

Maybe you dreamed of having your own brother

But your legacy ends here, Mr. Gunther Golan

An endless stream of shit like cancer in the colon

FINAL LINE

But I’d give anything to bring you back…

Hell Don't Need Me

Millions of years of evolution came unraveling for Harrison. Tufts of brown fur covered his already battered body. A tail protruded from his backside like a sword’s exit wound. His teeth sharpened and bulged from his gums in the same sword-like manner. His wild staring eyes grew bloodshot with rage and agony. His ham-like fists pounded against his cage as the anger within him built like dynamite. There was no more begging and pleading for the mercy of his eco-terrorist cohorts. The damage was done. Harrison was no more. In his place was a primitive savage with a thirst for blood and a nose for seeking out his prey. The more he punched the cage door, the hotter his rage became. And then…the door fell off.

There were other apes like him trapped in adjacent cages, pounding and growling for freedom. Harrison paid them no mind. His mother wanted a savage beast and she was about to get one. No plan of action. No intricate designs for revenge, just the love of revenge itself. Once he was free, with monkeys screaming in the background like his own personal cheerleaders, he pounded on the steel door to the prison room, creating little dents with each passing blow. Another series of punches, another dose of hot blood flowing through him. One dent turned into a crater of violence. And then, just like the door to his cage, this new door flew off like a leaf on a breeze.

Harrison sniffed around and perked his pointy ears up, but detected no signs of life, just an empty spaceship hallway complete with pipes and wires. More doors. More computer screens. More mumbo jumbo that used to mean something during his life as an eco-terrorist. Those days were long behind him, unlike the pipe he ripped off the wall with ease, which was right in front of him. Harrison smacked the steel pipe in his palm and bashed it off the floor several times, creating new dents where there were previously none. He howled and squeaked with a combination of excitement and anger. He loved this new weapon. He would love it even more once it struck somebody’s flesh.

And then…the common monkey scents grew stronger…and stronger. Harrison already knew he was basically occupying a zoo…but this animal prison had new blood…familiar blood…He took deeper whiffs to make sure he was locked onto this primal smell. His target burned into focus. They were all congregating down the hall. The excitement bubbling within Harrison caused even more primal screams and bashes of his lead pipe as he ran like a lunatic towards his destination. Another door to the cockpit? Where has he heard this story before? Harrison bashed his pipe against the door over and over again, creating the loudest thuds a prehistoric savage could possibly make. The deafening pounds didn’t create dents this time, but little explosions. Pieces of metal became lodged in his fur. Some got in his face, but Harrison didn’t bother wiping it away.

A few more bashes later and the door, much like Harrison’s evolutionary decline, was history. There they were, all in the cockpit like one big happy family. Except they too had prehistoric violence coursing through their veins. The monkey virus had gotten to all of them. His three brothers’ scents were powerful enough to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon. But his mother…the revered leader of a once powerful terrorist unit…the perfume and glamour had given way to a pungent odor that no mother should have. Every guilty party was gathered in one convenient room, all of them swinging around and bashing the environment around them. They didn’t even try to acknowledge Harrison’s presence. Maybe he was too far gone after all. But if that was true…how did he utter the words, “Hell don’t need me!”

Brother number one was the first to feel Harrison’s wrath in the form of a tail chomp so bloody that the limb fell off. The furry attachment flailed around like a crazy cobra while the brother screamed and writhed in agony. The other two brothers flew into battle with their anvil fists ready to disfigure any face they came across. Harrison bashed one of their ribcages in with the steel pipe and got pounced by the other brother. Harrison’s attacker leaned his face in with monster teeth bared, prepping to take a bite of delicious animal meat. Harrison held the pipe to his brother’s throat and pushed as hard as he could, drawing a small amount of blood from his mouth. Then the victim took the role of the bully as he bit his attacker’s finger off and spit it in his eye. Once Harrison was free, he wailed on his brother with the steel pipe over and over again until he was nothing more than a pile of shattered bones and pooling blood.

Harrison surveyed the damage he did in that small moment of white hot anger. His first brother passed out on the floor bleeding profusely from his tail, gangrene not too far behind. The brother with the shattered ribcage took his last breaths in the form of punctured wheezes. The less said about the third brother, the better. Harrison raised his lead pipe to the sky and roared like the savage he was meant to become. He even bashed the steel floor a few more times just to make sure he got all of his primal instincts out of his system. They were, but not in the way he had anticipated. Another cry sounded off in the room, but this one was tear-laden and shaky.

The mother monkey sat in the pilot’s seat of the ship with pleading and sorrow in her eyes. She got on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness, begging for a second chance despite the fact it would never be possible after these transformations. Wetness dropped from her bloodshot eyes and mucous splashed the floor beneath her. She even extended her arms for a peaceful hug, mother to son, just like the way it should have been.

Harrison’s former human side clouded his mind during this sympathetic display. He was feeling things again. His heart ached. His eyes dewed up when he took a second look at his fallen brothers. He snorted mucous upon locking eyes with his mother. “M…M…Mom?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Families weren’t supposed to treat each other this way. Everyone was in the wrong. Everyone had something to be guilty over. This was what it meant to be human, even if that particular DNA was a small percentage. Harrison dropped the pipe and embraced his mother, the two of them shedding tears on each other’s furry shoulders. They could start over and track down the bastard who did this to them.

But then the mother took a big bite out of Harrison’s right ear, gnawing it completely off and causing a rainstorm of blood to soak his fur. The mother bit him again, this time on the cheek. And again in the other ear. And again on the nose. Harrison tried to howl in pain, but blood was pouring onto his tongue and censoring his animalistic speech. His heart was broken. His stomach ached with betrayal. Screwed over twice by his own mother. This would be his legacy going forward. He started out as an incompetent eco-terrorist and he would die as a dumb ass monkey. With most of his face bloody and eaten, now wouldn’t be the good time for a head butt. Then again, logic wasn’t the animal kingdom’s strong suit, not even in the human world.

Harrison head butted his mother in the face and cracked her skull, causing her to spit out her sharpest front fangs. The two of them punched and wrestled each other, causing even more blood to stain the already dirty battlefield. Bones cracked. Organs sloshed around. Vomit projected from the mother’s mouth after a vicious kick to the stomach. Despite having cracked teeth himself, Harrison took one last bite out of his mother’s tail, ripping it off and bleeding her dry. The rage-filled demeanor in the mother monkey’s eyes rolled backwards to reveal dizziness and defeat. She stumbled around aimlessly while Harrison dragged his battered body over to the steel pipe before picking it up.

Once the mother plopped backwards on the ground, Harrison dragged his knuckles and his weapon across the ground, creating annoying screeching sounds in doing so, before raising the pipe in the air to deliver the final blow. “Hell…don’t…need…ME!” When Harrison brought the pipe down across his mother’s sternum and exploded her heart, he fell with her, though that was more owed to the sudden shaking of the spaceship they were in. Harrison’s dizzy eyes shifted in and out of focus as the turbulence jostled him around. The mild turbulence became a full on crash, launching Harrison through the windshield and onto the pavement.

This was it. With glass fragments stuck in his fur and blood pouring all over his body, Harrison could finally rest knowing his family was burning in hell. But then a familiar scent awakened him. His eyes slowly opened and his vision was obscured by tears and blood. It was a painstaking process pulling himself to his feet. But drag his body he did, leaving a smattering of life juices across the pavement.

Somebody else’s broken body laid on the sidewalk. All life was completely gone from this new corpse’s eyes, his fingers stuck in a gun position, his blue suit and tie a mess, and his puffy hair ripped and torn. Upon whiffing even deeper, Harrison recognized the familiar scent as the bounty hunter who unleashed his mother’s own monkey virus on the family. Spike Spiegel his name was, right?

Harrison, still holding onto his pipe, gritted his shattered teeth and crawled slowly towards Spike’s prone body. He raised the pipe in the air as if to write the final chapter of this story, despite that chapter already passing. One bash and Harrison’s revenge would be complete. And then…the human side took over once more. Harrison tossed the lead pipe aside and instead cradled Spike’s head in his lap, once again repeating the symbolic words, “Hell…don’t…need…me…” The monkey’s head swam as his vision blacked out. That would be his final act as a living creature: forgiveness for his former enemy. Why? Because it just felt right. It felt…human, at best. Evolution had taken root once again, more so in those last few seconds of life than a million years ever could.

“Hell…don’t…need…me…”

Scotty's Got a Gun

VERSE 1
All the talent in the world couldn’t save his sorry ass
When his sanity and dreams shattered like church glass
Beautiful colors scattered across the wooden floor
Heart of gold tainted and rotten to its frozen core
All the needles and bottles couldn’t erase his pain
All the nights of incest drove him bat shit insane
Calling it love doesn’t change the simple fact
That Scotty’s revolver is about to click-clack

CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4

VERSE 2
There’re only two choices for the rapist in his bed
Shoot a bullet in her chest or a bullet in her head
Give her one last chance to confess her mortal sins
But she says a prayer like God will actually let her in

CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4

VERSE 3
No one ever believed a word of Scotty’s story
Except for the parts that were intentionally gory
Matricide is the buzzword that makes the paper
To give that bold headline some extra spicy flavor
A villain to a world that never gave a goddamn
If it didn’t happen young, it would’ve happened as a man
There’s no such thing as a happily ever after
When the whole universe needs some laughter

EXTENDED CHORUS
Scotty’s got one left in the chamber
Scotty’s got some residual anger
Scotty’s got some scorpion venom
Which one of you fuckers wants to go to heaven?!
Scotty’s got a gun! X4

"Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation" by Garth Ennis

BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation

AUTHOR: Garth Ennis

YEAR: 1999

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Horror

GRADE: Pass

Feeling betrayed by his girlfriend Tulip and best friend Cassidy, Reverend Jesse Custer searches for meaning in the small town of Salvation, Texas. After fending off an attack against an old friend, he’s unofficially appointed sheriff of Salvation. His first big assignment is to do something about the Quincannon meat-packing family, who have run amok in Salvation with no consequences due to the patriarch Odin constantly paying off judges and officials. Jesse Custer cannot be bought or sold so easily and promises to do right by the people of Salvation.

While this installment of Preacher has its share of messed up moments, it doesn’t feel nearly as messed up as the previous volumes. Sure, there’s Odin’s little secret in the meat-packing plant. Sure, the villains are intolerably racist. But it just didn’t feel like the Preacher of old. Maybe I’ve become numb to it all after the first six volumes. Maybe I missed something along the way. Maybe I need to have this particular story explained to me. In any event, this seems more like a drama-driven story rather than a shock value extravaganza. While shock value doesn’t always mean good storytelling, Garth Ennis normally does it in a way that fits with the story perfectly. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a good story, but it’s just not the same.

But for all of this story’s faults, there’s no denying the heartstring-tugging moments that go along with it. This isn’t much of a spoiler since it happens early enough in the story, but Jesse does reunite with his mother after several decades apart. I won’t say how, but it does happen. And when it happens, tears flow from Christina Custer’s face like a running faucet. I’m sure Jesse cried somewhere during this reunion as well. Volume two was where Jesse’s sadistic upbringing and subsequent kidnapping was turned up to eleven. After enduring all of that trauma and never really recovering from it, Jesse and his mother have earned their tears and hopefully they’ll earn the reader’s tears too. This kind of hopefulness is what a dark and disturbing story needs every once and a while. Not too much of it, but this story had the right amount.

It’s also nice to see the sense of community among the residents of Salvation. It’s a small town, so everybody knows each other. I’ve lived in a small town before, so I know what that’s like. Coming together during a dire time of need is exactly what this town needed to feel credible. For years, Quincannon’s corporation has been terrorizing Salvation and getting away with it. It’s about time the citizens got sick and tired of being harassed. It’s about time they took Jesse Custer seriously as a sheriff. It’s about time they realized how badly they’re being wrecked by corporate interests. A nice little rebellion is what this story desperately needed. That too is heartwarming, probably just as heartwarming as Jesse’s reunion with his mother. I wish more small towns in America would stand up for their rights as much as Salvation ended up doing.

While I would have loved to see a continuation of the love triangle between Jesse, Tulip, and Cassidy (drug-induced hallucinations aside), I’m not giving up hope for that just yet as I have two more volumes to read before the canon is over. This was still an enjoyable volume to read, however. Yes, it didn’t feel as gritty as the previous volumes, but it didn’t have to be in order to earn my seal of approval. Imagine if I expected grittiness from every story I read outside of the Preacher series. That wouldn’t be fair, now would it? How does a passing grade sound, Mr. Ennis?

"Where's My Kitty?" by Ashley Uzzell

BOOK TITLE: Where’s My Kitty?

AUTHOR: Ashley Uzzell

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Children

GRADE: Pass

Little Kassidy is playing outside and would love to have a furry friend to share her adventures. But she keeps asking, “Where’s my kitty?” She looks in all of the usual places from the forest to the bathtub to even his favorite spot on the living room couch. Where could the little munchkin be?

Because this book is short by nature, this review will also be a brief one. First of all, I’ll just say…aww! Actually, you’re going to be saying that throughout this reading adventure. The pictures of little Spunky (the cat) are adorable and it’s easy to see why Kassidy would want to snuggle and play with the fur baby sweetheart. Not only does she want to know, “Where’s my kitty?”, but you’ll want to know too. You’ll wish you could give the fuzzy rug-rat pettings behind the ear and across his back. You’ll wish you could hear his purr motor revving in your ear. You’ll wish you could see the look on Kassidy’s cheerful baby face when she finds him. I’d warn you about that spoiler, but you saw it coming from miles away. This is an all-around cute book and that’s what you should expect when you pick up a copy.

Although the book was published in 2016, it was written when the real-life Kassidy was just a toddler. Since then, Spunky has passed to the Rainbow Bridge and Kassidy has won her battle with childhood leukemia. This book, as short as it may be, is a wonderful tribute to a wonderful love between child and kitty. Spunky is purring from beyond the grave, which is why I’m giving this book a passing grade. You’ve done your daughter proud, Ms. Uzzell!

Flight Plan

MOVIE TITLE: Flight Plan

DIRECTOR: Robert Schwentke

YEAR: 2005

GENRE: Mystery Thriller

RATING: PG-13 for language and violence

GRADE: Pass

Kyle Pratt and her six-year-old daughter Julia are flying from Berlin to New York City with Kyle’s dead husband stowed away in a coffin underneath the plane. Kyle takes a short nap and awakens to find her daughter missing. She goes around the plane asking everybody where she is and nobody can give her an answer. Upon further inspection, Julia Pratt was never even on the flight manifest. Kyle’s search becomes more frantic and her anger has the other passengers worried about their own safety. Has the grief of her husband made her delusional or is there a bigger conspiracy at work here? Nobody has these answers for Kyle because nobody onboard cares about her.

The mark of any good mystery is being able to keep the audience guessing until the climax. I kept watching because I genuinely wanted to know what on earth happened to Julia. There was even a time when I bought into the theory that Kyle was delusional. This is cinematic gas-lighting at its finest and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. While I won’t reveal Kyle and Julia’s fates, I will say that the movie’s harshest criticisms are misplaced. Some say the plot is over-the-top or confusing, but I don’t agree with that at all. Everything is perfectly clear by the story’s ending. A little cheesy at times, but clear nonetheless. Maybe the critics need to watch it multiple times in order to piece everything together, but the pieces are there and no stone is left unturned.

The one thing I agree with critics on is that the acting is superb no matter which character is being portrayed. Kyle Pratt is a convincing mother who just wants the best for her daughter. Whether it’s the tender moments they have together or the mother’s near psychotic search for Julia, Jodie Foster was perfect for the role and I wouldn’t want anybody else playing Kyle. Even the whiny passengers who kept getting on each other’s nerves had me convinced this was real whether it was kids slapping each other, parents wanting peace and quiet, or xenophobic Americans getting in scuffles with Arab passengers.

The one controversy I need to address as far as acting goes, however, is the portrayal of the flight crew. Apparently, their “rude and uncaring” attitudes painted actual fight attendants in a negative light. I personally don’t see this as a blanket statement. I see it as an intricate part of this well-crafted mystery. Everybody is supposed to be against Kyle Pratt because they think she’s crazy. Why should the flight crew be any different than the passengers who clapped for her getting handcuffed by the air marshal? While Kyle’s anger is well-placed, if taken out of context, it would be annoying to a bunch of passengers who’ve been on the plane for north of six hours. I’ve been on irritating flights before and I was seething deep inside, just like any rational person would be. Don’t look for controversy where there is none. We’re all human and we all get angry.

The movie received mixed reviews from critics, but I happened to find Flight Plan to my liking. I went into the movie expecting to be on the edge of my seat and that’s exactly what happened. Sure, Flight Plan isn’t anything mind-blowing or overly-philosophical, but it doesn’t have to be. Not every cinematic masterpiece has to be deep and profound. Sometimes it’s just meant to be enjoyed. Flight Plan gets a passing grade from little old me.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 23

“Mother…please forgive me…I just had to get out all my pain and suffering…remember I will always love you…I’m your…son….”

“That’s very sweet of you, Mr. George, but I’m not your mother,” said a nameless jail guard as his words jolted Scott awake.

The battered prisoner’s body ached and pulsated while his eyes stung as they adjusted to the florescent lights of an infirmary. He had patches and bandages all over his wounds and even had some cotton pressed against his gums, though his speech was clear enough to decipher. As soon as Scott’s eyes adjusted to the light, he stared up at the prison guard trying to get a good read of him. The bright lights gave him an angelic aura, but Scott knew this was far from heaven.

The guard reached up and pulled the wire out of the only camera in the room, thus making their interactions completely private. Scott’s body jittered at the thought of what might happen to him next. But when he gave a wide-eyed look at the guard, the latter said, “Doctor-patient privacy.” Scott’s confusion and anxiety grew even more rampant when the guard knocked on the door and said, “You can come in now, Dr. Archer.”

“Wait a minute, who’s Dr. Archer?” asked Scott in weak tone.

“Your girlfriend’s therapist,” answered the guard, who allowed a slender black lady in business attire to enter the room with a clipboard, a pen, and a sympathetic smile for her patient. “I’ll leave the two of you alone for a while.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the therapist. Once the guard vacated the room, she engaged Scott with a gentle handshake and a warm attitude. “My name is Dr. Simone Archer. Your girlfriend sent me here to see how you’re doing.”

“It’s amazing anybody cares about me at all,” said Scott with a saggy frown.

Simone took a seat on the edge of Scott’s bed and began taking notes on her clipboard. “Adrienne cares a lot about you, Mr. George. This isn’t just some one-time fling for her. She’s committed to your happiness. She hopes you feel the same way about her. Do you, Scott?”

Scott closed his heavy eyelids and sighed, “I’ve never loved anybody that much in my life. Too bad it’s illegal.”

“Just because something is illegal, doesn’t mean it’s wrong, The reverse is true as well. The laws that are built on commonsense are the ones that mean the most to nonconformists such as yourself. But not everybody has the commonsense you do and that’s why you’re here, not because you did anything morally corrupt.”

Scott’s eyes slowly opened into pseudo-wideness when he said, “I’ve been waiting far too long for somebody to say that to me.”

“Adrienne told me of your struggles with your history teacher. And before you ask, she has granted me permission to divulge this information to you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do it. Just like I won’t divulge anything you say to me in this session without your own permission. What happens in this room stays in this room. It was my idea for the guard to unplug the camera.”

Deep sighs and waves of relaxation washed over Scott’s exhausted and burdensome body. “As long as this conversation is private and I’m talking to someone who doesn’t think I have my head in my ass…there’s something I’ve wanted to get off my chest. I’ve told Adrienne about it, but not many other people.”

With clipboard and pen ready to go, Simone said, “I’m listening. Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

Another deep relaxing sigh later, Scott said, “As you can tell from how fucking skinny I am…I’ve been having problems eating lately. It’s like…every time I take a bite of something, it’s covered in these slimy little worms. I know they’re not really there, but I can’t get my mind to shut the fuck up about it.” Tears welled up in his eyes and Simone gently patted his ankle. “I miss eating the good shit. I used to love eating steaks, cheeseburgers, pizza, Oreos…now all I can eat are worms and more worms. Everything around me is just a worm den.”

“And why do you suppose this is?”

Scott shrugged and said, “That’s what’s been giving me nightmares lately: I don’t know why. It’s like…every time I close my eyes, there she is again. This puppet teacher named Aloysius Striker. And then when I go to court, I find out she’s a living, breathing human being. She’s my bully’s step-mother. I don’t know what the hell any of this has to do with my worms. But every time the worms crawl around, her hideous face is always there to mock me.”

Simone allowed her new patient to shed a few silent tears before she patted his ankle again and said, “I want to try something with you, Scott. You seem to be in a relaxed state of mind, but I think you can go deeper than that. I want you to close your eyes for a moment. Breathe gently in and out. I want you to get to the root of these issues. The answer is locked up somewhere in there. You just have to be the one who unlocks it.”

“But…but…what if I find something that fucks me up?”

“Whatever you find locked up in there, it will no doubt be painful. You’re showing classic signs of PTSD. And as a coping mechanism, those who suffer from PTSD push their worst memories to a neutral corner of their brains. That may work in the short term, but now you’re at a point where it’s eating you up inside. I know you’re scared, Scott. But if you don’t’ confront your demons now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Scott gave a sad flat tire noise and said, “However long that is.”

“Have you given up already, Scott? Even if you have, don’t you at least owe it to yourself to find the answers you’re looking for?”

Taking more deep breaths, Scott closed his eyes and said, “Okay, I’ll play ball with you. Let’s do this.”

Holding Scott’s hand in a soothing grip, Simone spoke to him in an ethereal new age voice in hopes of triggering a hypnotic effect. “Think back to your earliest memory of Mrs. Striker. When did this happen? Who is she to tell you what to think about? Why does her presence mean so much to you?”

Scott’s mind swirled with colors while his body sank deeper into his hospital bed. His arms went limp as did his legs. He could breathe deeply while ignoring the agony in his nearly broken torso. Any stress point in his body, he breathed into and dissolved the tension. No judgment. No condescension. Just Scott and his mind, one-on-one.

As he traveled through his imagination, he could feel himself getting smaller. His babyish voice echoed throughout the halls of what appeared to be another hospital room. He tensed up slightly when the worms flooded his imagination, but he brushed them away like mere annoyances since they blocked the path to his answers. And then he felt a motherly pair of hands cradling him and soothing his baby screams. A woman gently sang to him, “Good morning to you. Good morning to you. Good morning, dear Scotty. Good morning to you!”

Scott sat up in his bed and triggered the pain in his stomach, his heart and brain beating at a blistering speed. Adrenaline poured through his system as tears flooded from his eyes. When Simone asked him what he saw, he caught his breath long enough to say, “Aloysius is my mother!...That fucking bitch is my mother!” Scott plopped backwards in his bed and allowed the tears to burst over his face. “That’s not possible. How could my dad marry a woman like that? Damn you, Dad!”

Simone pulled a handkerchief from her suit pocket and wiped the wetness from her patient’s face. But alas, not even the best janitors in the world had that kind of cleaning power. The tears kept coming and so did the snot. Simone held the rag to his nose and allowed him to blow his nose until his sinuses were dry. She tossed the rag in the garbage can, but the tears kept coming.

“Listen to me, Scott. Your past doesn’t define you. I know that sounds cliché, but quite frankly it doesn’t get said enough. This woman obviously had a tremendous effect on your psyche. But she’s neither here nor there. She has no control over your life anymore. She made the decision to leave you and mother your nemesis. That’s all on her. As far as you go, Scott, you must now use this story as a launching pad for your future, not as a barricade. Be the change you want in this world.”

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, Scott wept, “Future? What future? I’m in prison, for god’s sake! There’s no such thing as a future in prison!”

Taking Scott’s hand in hers yet again, Simone looked deep into his dewy eyes and confessed, “I wanted to wait to tell you this until you’ve calmed down a bit. But I can see you need to know it now. It’s the only thing that can convince you to stay strong and push for a better day. You see, Scott…your principal Miss Williams set up a Go Fund Me page to get you out of jail…she met her goal. Your bail’s been paid. It’s all a matter of waiting for the paperwork to go through. Scott…you’re free!”

That news should have brought a permanent smile to Scott’s face, but instead more tears poured from his bright red pupils. “I don’t deserve this….I didn’t do anything to earn this…this is some Deus Ex Machina shit right here!”

“You’re wrong, Scott,” said Simone. “While it’s true you’ve made a few enemies during your high school years, you’ve also inspired many. The parents of Perkins High paid close attention to what happened to you. They were shocked not at your actions, but at your results. They looked at you and asked themselves…What if that was my child in the defendant’s chair? This is your story now, Scott. While you didn’t come up with the money yourself, you win this war by virtue of your survival. The world needs to hear what you have to say. They need your individuality. They need your strength. They need your empathy. That’s why you’re free from prison. And yes, you do deserve your freedom and so much more.”

After a while of letting his new therapist’s words hang in the air, Scott hugged her tightly without caring how awkward it would seem. He soaked the shoulder of her business suit in tears, but Simone didn’t mind at all. In fact, she returned the hug and allowed him this moment of newfound happiness. Scott knew he still had a long road ahead of him in terms of recovery, but this was a huge first step. “Thank you, Dr. Archer. Thank you!” he said softly.

“Please, call me Simone. You have my permission. This isn’t school, my friend. This is just you and me.” As soon as the embrace ended, she said, “Speaking of school, you have finals to prepare for, including a US history test, though Mr. Simpson has been replaced by someone else. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Wiping away the last of his ocular fluids, Scott nodded and said, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life!”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 17

“Scott Marcus George, place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the statutory rape of Adrienne Melanie Simpson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, the state will provide you with free legal council. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

As chilling as those words were to hear, they couldn’t compare to the shrieks of terror from Scott’s own mother as he was dragged to the police vehicle in handcuffs. As he lay in his one-bunk jail cell with damp eyes, Scott replayed that morning in his head over and over again. He had just gotten home from serving detention. He finally had a calm moment with his only parent as they ate cereal together. And then the police obliterated that peace treaty by showing up at his house and reducing him to a convict.

Scott wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes for fear that other prisoners might see him like this and get some funny ideas. Yes, he was all alone in that cell with nothing but his thoughts, but even his own mind conspired against him in this dark time. Visions of anal penetration in the showers flooded his numbed out brain.

It hadn’t happened yet, but he could still feel Bubba’s hairy crowbar dick ripping his intestines to shreds. But instead of blood or shit coming out of his asshole, it was worms and maggots. Funny little creatures devouring his soul from the inside and leaving him with an empty shell. Scott wiped away even more tears, but the sounds of a knight stick banging against his cell bars brought him back to reality.

“Mr. George, your mother is here to see you. She don’t look happy,” said the guard.

He wasn’t lying. Beth George approached the bars looking like she saw the devil himself. Whatever tears Scott had in his eyes, his mother had an even bigger surplus of. Her hands trembled as she touched the bars and gazed deep into whatever was left of her son’s soul. “Scott…is it true? Did you really have sex with a young girl?” He just stared at her with blankness on his face, not even so much as a yes or no. “Answer me, damn it!” Beth screeched.

Scott sat up in his bunk bed and said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Whatever the case, I found something that neither you nor anybody else could give me: true love.”

“Scott, what the hell are you talking about?” wept Beth. “I’ve done nothing but love you this whole time. I know we haven’t been getting along lately, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. But now…” She wiped away tears and snot with the back of her hand. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

“Well, that’s funny, because you look so familiar to me,” said Scott as he approached his mother. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re someway related to Mr. Simpson. You both love to scream at the top of your lungs. You both like to intimidate your inferiors into getting what you want. You both orgasm yourselves inside out at the thought of me being sent to a military school. You say you do it all in the name of discipline and order. Well, my grades speak for themselves! I’ve got all the discipline I’ll ever need! How about some love every once and a while, huh?!”

“I’ve tried to give you love, Scott!” sobbed Beth. “I’ve tried to be easy with you! It wasn’t working! I can’t let you get complacent! And now here you are fucking little girls because you think they’re going to fill the void! Well, if you like sex so much, you’re going to get plenty of it in prison, I’ll tell you that right now! You did this to yourself, Scott! Now you’re going to live with the consequences for however long the judge says!”

“Listen to me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Scott. “If you and Mr. Simpson couldn’t get through to me, what makes you think a bunch of morons in orange jumpsuits are going to have any better luck? At least when I’m finally locked up, nobody will care if I fight back! Nobody’s coming to save the poor schmuck who gets his head kicked in by me! And if for some reason I get killed in the struggle, well, it’s been a damn good life and I’m more than ready to leave it!”

Pounding on the bars with closed fists, Beth bawled, “Stop talking like that, Scott! I don’t want you to die! I want you to realize what an asshole you are so that you can make something of yourself!”

“Oh, yeah right, like prison is going to be my ultimate education,” belted Scott. “They don’t teach things like Pythagorean Theorems and French grammar behind these walls. The prison system in this fucked up country takes innocent, damaged people like me and turns them into hardcore criminals. You can thank your conservative politicians for that one. How do I know all of this? Because I hate school and love education at the same time!”

Beth George collapsed onto the floor and soaked her knees in tears, all while Scott looked down on her with a stone cold expression. No pathetic display of emotion was going to shake his foundation that day. In his mind, he had come too far in this war against the system to be swayed by petty tears.

The mother used the jail bars to pick herself up and stared harshly into her son’s eyes while tears cascaded from her own. “If that’s how it’s going to be…then do me a favor, Scott. When your prison sentence is over, don’t even bother coming back home. You can go anywhere you want to when it’s all said and done. You can go live with that poor girl you fucked…you can live in the school’s tool shed…or better yet…you can go straight to hell!”

Beth scratched the bars and struggled to make her way down the hall when she heard her son say, “Whatever turns you on, Beth.”

She slowly turned around and hobbled back to Scott’s cell while asking in disbelief, “What did you call me?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few seconds ago, you just disowned me, right?” said Scott. “Well, as long as you’re throwing me away like a common piece of trash, we might as well be on a first name basis. You don’t want to be my mother anymore? You want to throw me to the wolves? Fine. Then I won’t bother calling you Mom anymore. You’re Beth now. You’re Beth fucking George!”

“You take that back, you sick bastard!” sobbed Beth as she scratched the bars yet again.

“You know what? You’re right. I do take that back. You’re not Beth George. You’re Beth Green! Green is your maiden name, right? Well, you better get used to being called that, because you’re even less of a wife than you are a mother. Dad is spinning in his grave like a pinwheel and it’s all your fault!”

“You monster!” shrieked Beth as she pounded on the jail bars like a silverback gorilla, prompting the guards to rush in and restrain her. Their tight grips on her arms and legs didn’t stop her from screaming vitriol at her now ex-son. “You bastard! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life! Hell, I hope you get sent to the gas chamber! You’re no son of mine! You’re a monster! You’re a fucking monster, Scott George!”

Just before Beth could be dragged through the doorway, Scott had a stranglehold on the bars as he roared, “I welcome the gas chamber, you stupid cunt! Hell, I’ll even settle for the electric fucking chair! There ain’t enough lightning in this world for me! I hope the state uses the whole fucking power grid against me! At least then I can get some goddamn peace and quiet for once! Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”

The white hot display of anger left Scott’s entire body juicy red. He breathed heavily as his lungs and heart worked overtime to keep him on his feet. Feeling his legs wobbling like gummy worms, he staggered back to his bunk bed and face planted onto the mattress. At this point he didn’t care if other prisoners or prison guards saw him cry. He was going to unleash his biblical flood of facial fluids into that one pillow. Drool, tears, snot, they all came rushing out of his system like a leaky oil pipeline.

His mind raced like a cheetah scurrying from rifle-wielding game hunters. He knew he would be a changed man once he got out of prison (if he was found guilty). Would he change so much that Adrienne wouldn’t recognize him anymore? Would she turn him away once he showed even once sign of aggression towards her? Would she abandon him at the thought of Scott being raped in the showers? All in all, he really felt like the world’s biggest pain in the ass, sodomy aside. To wait for him on the other side, let alone put up with his newfound outlook on life, required the patience of a saint. Adrienne, as young as she was, probably didn’t have a massive supply of that.

“I’m sorry, Adrienne…I’m so sorry!” whined Scott as he sank into a deep, haunted sleep.

"Through the Shattered Glass" by Jeanie Clarke

BOOK TITLE: Through the Shattered Glass

AUTHOR: Jeanie Clarke (with Bradley Craig and Neil Cameron)

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: Mixed

Whether you know her as a villainous valet in WCW and WCCW or the one who told Steve Austin to drink his tea before it got “stone cold”, you will get an even deeper look into Jeanie Clarke’s life in this hard-hitting memoir. Toxic marriages to wrestlers Chris Adams and Steve Austin, seventeen years of pill addiction, estrangement from her daughter Jade, and a miserable living situation have all taken their toll on this poor woman to where she contemplated suicide at one point. Going through a successful rehab in her home country of England along with telling her own story was exactly what Jeanie needed to exorcise her psychological demons.

As compelling as Jeanie Clarke’s story is, the way it was written didn’t give me the chance to feel her emotions and turmoil early on. Typos aside, the writing style felt a bit rushed, like I was bouncing from situation to situation without being allowed to settle in. I like a good fast-paced style, but not at the expense of sensory details and showing instead of telling. I realize this is a celebrity memoir, but a fast pace and descriptive writing don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Don’t believe me? Ask Chris Jericho.

The rushed writing style only lasted for the first half of the book. Meanwhile in the latter half, the stories Jeanie tells about drug addictions, being stalked, living with racist neighbors, and having a borderline abusive marriage with Steve Austin are easily the most terrifying her memoir has to offer. She took all of those pills as a way to cope with her stresses and it soon spiraled out of control. I know it’s easy to judge people who choose drugs as a way to get over their problems. But to borrow a phrase from Dr. Phil, “I don’t look at her and ask why is she doing this. I look at her and ask, why not.” You want to cheer for Jeanie to get better and have a solid foundation for her children. Spoiler alert: she’s been clean for years now. It’s safe to say she earned her ending, and then some.

If you want some insight as to how the wrestling business works, you’ll get plenty of that from this memoir. The exhausting travel schedule, the injuries, the constant pain, and being creatively stifled are just some of the problems wrestlers face on a day-to-day basis. Taking prescription pills is just one of the ways they cope with it all. This was happening long before WWE started their Wellness Policy in 2005 following the untimely death of Eddie Guerrero. If stricter drug testing had been implemented earlier, who knows how many lives could have been saved. It’s depressing to think about and you feel that depression near the end of the book when Jeanie almost dies of drug-induced shock.

While a mixed grade isn’t the most desirable one I could give, I don’t want it to turn you, my audience, away from this book. Jeanie’s story is one worth listening to despite the rushed writing style. Drug addiction isn’t just something that “weak” people go through. It’s a universal affliction with so many psychological triggers that it’s amazing anybody can be rehabilitated at all. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, seek help before it’s too late. Jeanie Clarke found help and she’s a better woman for it.

Age Against the Machine

“Warning: this episode of The Crow Show has been rated TV-14-L. It contains strong language that may be unsuitable for younger audiences. The opinions expressed in this episode are solely those of the host and his guests and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Mystery Rider Productions or their affiliates. Viewer discretion is advised.”

The words and TV rating on the screen blew away in a fog of dust while an animated cowboy with a skeleton mask rode into view on a horse. The animal bucked up in the air and let out a powerful shriek while the cowboy screamed, “Yee-haw!” The words “Mystery Rider Productions Presents…” appeared below the now frozen logo after a bolt of lightning ripped through the screen. The logo also blew away in a cloud of dust in favor of the words, “Today’s Episode: Age Against the Machine”.

The black screen faded in to reveal a clapping audience while the camera circularly panned toward the main desk. On one side of the desk sat a grumpily frowning gentleman in a suit and tie while occupying the other side was a pleasant-faced middle-aged lady in a sun dress and hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the star of The Crow Show: Marcus Crow!” shouted the background announcer, prompting the clapping audience to rise to their feet and cheer even louder than before. A dapperly-dressed black male appeared onstage smiling and waving at his adoring crowd while smoothly making his way toward the desk. Mr. Crow even bowed to his audience like they were gods as the cheering slowly died down.

“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the Crow Show! Today’s episode is probably going to be the most controversial one we’ve had in a long time. I’ve hired extra security to come out if necessary. The topic of course is the so-called Brat Ban sweeping the nation. Children deemed too noisy or disobedient are being ejected from public places along with their parents. Some people agree with this policy while others believe it’s unfair and ageist towards these small children. My guests today represent both sides of the Brat Ban debate.

To my left, she is a stay at home mom of two sons and she’s also a parenting blogger who claims to be on the wrong end of the Brat Ban, give it up for Ms. Leslie Cain!” The audience cheered and clapped as Marcus stole a kiss on the back of Leslie’s hand. He continued, “To my right, he is a retired restaurant manager who has enforced the Brat Ban multiple times in his career, give it up for Mr. David Charles!” The audience’s cheers were purely for the sake of being respectful and had nothing to do with their love of Mr. Charles.

“Okay everyone, let’s get started. Now before I…”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” interrupted David. “I want to clear the air on something before we begin. Mr. Crow, you said earlier that people are suggesting the Brat Ban is ageist, but I’m here to tell you it’s not. Ageism would suggest that I’m prejudiced. I didn’t prejudge those children. I judged them based on things they all universally do.”

With her arms folded and a death stare on her face, Leslie asked, “And what do all children universally do, Mr. Charles? Do they get hungry? Do they get impatient? Do they…you know…act like children? You can’t hold little babies to the same standards as adults. It is unfair, David.”

Marcus extended his arms in a quasi-barrier between his two guests and said, “Okay guys, let’s have a little bit of civility here. We’re trying to get to the bottom of…”

“Bottom of what, Marcus? Your Nielsen ratings?” belted David, which was followed by an “ooo” from the audience. The host straightened his tie and remained passive while David pointed his finger at him and said, “Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know about how badly this show is doing. You knew full well me and this crazy bitch would never get along, so why don’t you…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” interrupted Leslie, holding her hands out defensively. “What the hell’s your problem? I didn’t come here to be humiliated by an ageist creep!” The audience came back to life with a round of applause. “I came here to have a civilized debate! Maybe if you’d actually open your eyes every now and then, you wouldn’t have to throw those children out of your restaurant!”

Marcus tried once again in vain to restore order, but David blasted right through his verbiage with, “You’re right! I don’t have to worry about throwing kids out, because I don’t have a restaurant anymore! I sold it to my oldest son so that I wouldn’t have to…”

An even louder “Oh!” emanated from the audience while Leslie cut off her foe. “You have a son? So you actually have kids and you’re out here making these ridiculous claims? The irony’s killing me more than your greasy ass food probably would have!”

The audience continued to voice their “ooos” and “ahs” as David and Leslie traded barbs back and forth. David said, “First of all, you fucking moron, unlike the bitchy parents who had to get thrown out, I raised my kids the right way! If they did half the shit that these banned kids did, I’d beat their asses with a belt!”

The banter between Leslie and David escalated when the two guests stood up and came nose-to-nose with each other. Marcus had given up hope completely and sat at the table with his shaking head in his hands. The beefy security guards in black T-shirts stormed onto the stage to separate David and Leslie, but the two wouldn’t stop turning the studio into a cacophonic hellhole with their screeches and screams. The audience didn’t do much to ease Marcus’s aching head with their own noisy chants.

The stressed out host finally put a stop to the madness when he shot up from his seat, extended his arms in another pseudo-barricade, and shouted, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” The audience, guests, and security team calmed down long enough to allow the host’s words wash over them like a tidal wave of rage. Marcus straightened his collar and shouted, “This is not the Jerry Springer Show! I will not have fighting on my program! This is a respectable show and I demand that everyone here treat it as such!”

“I don’t know, Marcus,” mocked David. “The Jerry Springer Show’s pulling better ratings than the Blow Show right now. Maybe you can get some more viewers if that Leslie chick takes her clothes off!”

Leslie Cain bolted towards David Charles like she was shot out of a cannon and rained down fists and elbows upon the child-hating guest. Not even the fierceness of the security team could contain the motherly fireball. She just kept climbing over them and throwing more haymakers, to which David inadequately covered his head and dropped to the floor.

Marcus jumped up on the table and dove onto the mass of humanity brawling it out on the stage, while the audience mockingly chanted, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” During the scuffle, Marcus Crow suffered a deep scratch on his arm and bled buckets all over the stage. The redness in his arm was only matched by the redness in his vision. He hungered for violence. He hungered for retribution. The sinister urge ate a hole in his stomach. In his blind rage, he threw a punch at what he thought was the source of the scratch.

But then the audience gasped in horror when it was Leslie who took one on the jaw and flopped over unconscious. The bruises were on Marcus’s knuckles. He stopped giving a shit about his bloody arm and started hypnotically at his purple fist. In that moment, everybody was quiet, the security guards slowly backed away, and time itself stood as still as a statue for Marcus Crow.

The frozen host barely noticed David Charles’s hand on his shoulder when the guest mocked, “Well, well, well, I guess you’ve got your ratings after all. Isn’t this what you wanted? A steady income? Lots of fame? Well, you’re famous now, buddy. Come on, say it with me: Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

“I…I…” Marcus wiped a singular tear away from his eyes and softly said, “I’m not Jerry fucking Springer…”

“You’re right, buddy,” said David as he patted Marcus on the shoulder. Making reference to Marcus’s black skin, he said, “You’re the host of the Jerome Springer Show! Enjoy your fame!” David gently shook the still petrified Marcus and danced off the set whistling a merry tune.

Marcus slowly turned his head to face the camera and stuttered, “We…we’ll be right back after…th…these messages.” The camera still rolled long enough to catch Marcus shaking as he pointed at Leslie’s unconscious body and telling his security detail to take her to the medical wing. The sullen-faced bouncers heaved Leslie on their shoulders and carried her away like it was a funeral procession.

Marcus gingerly made his way to the desk and couldn’t bring himself to face the hushed audience, so he held his head in his hands yet again. He lifted his head only a little bit and noticed the camera still hadn’t gone to commercials. “What are you waiting for?!” he roared. “Turn that fucking thing off and take a commercial break, damn it!” Except instead of a five-minute word from the sponsors, Marcus was certain he would have a permanent vacation from television life. He was right: he wasn’t Jerry Springer. At least Jerry Springer would still have a show.

The Ophidiomancer

When Shaun Goldberg breathed fresh cool air for the first time in his life, he was nearly brought to tears. The grass underneath his bare feet felt softer than a kitten’s fur coat. The wind massaged his wounded body with every heavenly blast. For a minute, he thought he actually was in heaven. Then again, even a public bathroom would have been heaven compared to the blood-and-shit-covered cage he was locked in from childhood to his current thirty years. Bending those bars in half and running away gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

With only a sheep mask and a pair of blue jeans to cover himself with, Shaun ventured out into the countryside plains looking for…god knew what. He had no idea what the hell was supposed to be out here. Would the strangers of this new land treat him just as badly as his mother had? Pushing that possibility out of his mind was like fighting with a schizophrenic ghost. The visions of his mother beating him with a belt and setting him on fire caused him to clutch his head so tightly that his ears bled. He had scars and slashes all over his chest and back because of it.

When the traumatic nightmares fought harder and harder to make Shaun’s head explode, he ran across the wheat field with no destination and a freakish cry in his lungs. He could only run for a short distance since his exhausted legs gave out on him. He crashed to his knees and bawled like a baby. He screamed like a wild beast and flailed his arms like morning stars. What good was having freedom if he had nowhere to go, no education, and nobody to talk to? Was he only delaying the inevitable? Was his thirty years on earth just one miserable hellhole?

Shaun’s traumatic voices were interrupted by religious chanting off in the distance. That baritone voice. Those Latin words. The hisses of poisonous snakes. Could he really be out here? Shaun picked his head up and stared languidly at the ritual going on before his very eyes. Yes, it was him! Reverend Carlos Pierre, the televangelist his mother used to watch on TV all the time. With such charisma in the preacher’s voice and a strong presence, surely Mr. Pierre could help Shaun find his way again.

When the masked giant approached the snakebite ceremony, he looked down on the ground to see several of Carlos’s followers rolling around and coughing up venom. The preacher smiled down at them and spoke in tongues while sprinkling some kind of dust on their bodies. With a blue Hawaiian shirt, white trousers, and sandals with black socks, Carlos looked more like a casual slob than a legitimate cleric. But what would Shaun know about fashion? For all he knew, Reverend Pierre was the real deal.

The priest gazed up at Shaun with his thousand mile stare and said, “You’ve come to the right place, my son. We were just in the middle of a ritual. You’re welcome to join us. Heck, it was probably destiny to begin with. The gods have brought you here, my friend. I know that you’re lost and you don’t know what to do. Kneel before me and all will become clear.”

Shaun was shivering with nervousness at the possibility of finding out what his true purpose in life was. He couldn’t have been a punching bag all these years. There was more to it all than that and he was sure Carlos was going to show him the way. With shivering legs, he got down on one knee like they did in the telecasts and bowed his head.

“Very good, my son. You should know by know what’s coming next,” said Carlos with his devious grin. From the crumbling stone well next to him, he pulled out a brick compartment and opened the hatch to release a hooded cobra from its resting place. He picked up the little bastard and petted it like a newborn puppy. “Hello there, little guy. Who’s my handsome little man? You are, my friend!” The Reverend kissed the cobra on the head before holding it like a whip and approaching Shaun while speaking in strange tongues.

The seven-foot tall giant lifted his head for a slight moment and leaped backwards while screaming like an infant. He remembered seeing these kinds of snakes all the time around his cage. He would cry out in the middle of the night and his mother wouldn’t help him. He got bitten and traumatized by these little hellions and his intense whiny breathing said it all: it was going to happen in adulthood.

Carlos wagged his finger at Shaun and smiled before saying in his smooth jazz voice, “Now, now, my son. You want to be healed, right? You want all of those scars on your body to fade away? You want to meet your savior and creator? You must go through with this, my friend. There is no other way to salvation. If you can’t trust this million dollar smile, what can you trust? Do me one other favor, my boy: take off that silly mask.”

“I…I…I can’t, Mister Reverend Sir. She won’t let me! That bitch won’t let me!” panicked Shaun with his hands defensively over his face.

“I’ll let that burst of foul language slide this time around, but if you do it again, you’ll find yourself in a fiery pit by the time this ritual is over. You don’t want to go there, do you? You look like that’s where you’ve been this whole time. Whoever this woman is you’re referring to, she can’t hurt you now. Nobody can hurt you now. The snakebite is all but a heavenly sting. And then the juices will release you from your worst nightmares. Now do as I say and take that mask off,” said Reverend Pierre in a firm, but polite voice.

Shaun slowly let his hands down and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Pierre. I can’t do it. You don’t want me to. I’m just going to be a sinner if I do.”

Like the animal he held in his hands, Carlos struck quickly when he yanked Shaun’s mask off. The preacher’s expression changed from polite psychosis to pants wetting fear. “Holy shit!” he whispered when he backpedaled and held his cobra out like a sword. The reptile hissed and flicked its tongue in Shaun’s direction.

Both the sheep mask and the gloves were both off. This man was not a preacher. He was a con artist not unlike a certain matriarchal parent. Shaun’s face was covered in blood and looked like a bare skull with a holy cross tattooed on his forehead. The face of a heavyweight boxer looked more pristine after one of his fights than Shaun’s did after thirty years of torture.

The savage giant stood up on both bare feet and slowly approached the frightened ophidiomancer. The cobra in Carlos’s hand would snap and hiss while the preacher himself kept chanting, “Get away from me! You’re nothing more than a foul beast! Be gone, sinner! Be gone!”

When Shaun got too close, the cobra finally struck. The little creature would have sunk its razorblade teeth into the giant’s chest if Shaun hadn’t instinctively grabbed its head and squeezed with all of his angry might. “Let him go!” shouted Carlos as he tried to pull the snake away. “He hasn’t done anything to anybody! He’s just an animal! He’s innocent! He’s the gateway to heaven!”

Carlos pulled too hard and snapped the snake’s smashed up head off. The goop, blood, and venom in Shaun’s hand was shaken off like a common stain. The preacher backed up until he was cornered against the stone well. Shaun lifted his hands offensively and smiled a devilish smile at his prey. When he reached down for his opponent’s throat, Carlos sprang back up and started punching and elbowing Shaun’s already bloodied up face. Sprays of thick red gunk splashed all over the now dead corpses of Carlos’s followers. After one too many strikes, Shaun fell backwards like a domino and snored heavily.

The ophidiomancer looked down at his victim with a wicked grin and laughed like this whole encounter was one big joke. He had life juices all over his arms as he held them to the sky and laughed like a maniac. “You see that?! I told you I was the one who was going to send you to heaven! But did you listen?! No, and that’s why you’re rotting in an eternal hell!”

Shaun sat up and glared at his attacker dead in his now frightened eyes. “No…no! How can you?! You’re just a demon! You’re a common sinner! You’re a fool!” shouted Carlos.

The giant nipped up to his feet and bull rushed Carlos back first into the stone well. While the preacher was struggling for air as Shaun held his throat, the giant said, “Truth is, Reverend, the only hell that exists for me is miles back there! If you want to know what a real fire pit looks like, I’ll be happy to show you!”

While Carlos was shouting “No!” repeatedly, Shaun reached into the well and pulled out yet another poisonous snake. With one hand firmly wrapped around the creature’s neck, he wrapped the body around Carlos’s throat and strangled him with brutal force. The preacher’s legs were dangling as he was being hoisted in the air by this ogre-like nightmare of a man. Oxygen only lasted for so long, but Shaun Goldberg’s newfound smile lasted forever.

The beauty of the afternoon passed into the chill of the night. The Goldberg family residence was little more than a beat up trailer with a shit-stained farm out back. Bursting the door open with a slab of red meat was a corpulent woman dressed in a pink bathrobe with bunny slippers. “Shaun! Rise and shine! It’s dinner time, you sack of shit! You’d better be up and awake before I bet your ass again!”

The matriarch of the Goldberg family kicked open the barn door and burst into tears at what she saw. It wasn’t her precious little boy in the bloody cage. It was her dear and beloved Reverend Carlos Pierre hanging by his own snake, lifeless as the corpses he collected that day. The mother sobbed and wailed as she waddled over to the dead body and hugged it tightly. “Oh, Reverend! I’m sorry my bastard boy did this to you! I know now that you’re in heaven!”

“Hello, mother dearest!” said a familiar gravelly monster voice. The bitchy mother slowly turned her head and saw that her “bastard boy” Shaun was standing in the doorway covered in live poisonous snakes. The mother dropped on her ass and continued to shed pathetic tears. The son? He had only one question: “What’s for dinner, momma?”

Cold and Scared

One month was all it took. One month of missed paychecks, lost sleep, hyper-vigilance, and moodiness was all Officer Casey Rasmussen needed to find what she needed to find…at least she was sure she did. This forest had to be the place. If not, then the baggy eyelids, messy hair, and hunched over tiredness would continue for another month. The trail might have been colder than the nighttime air by the time Casey checked out this lead.

The officer pulled her puffy coat over herself even tighter while shining a flashlight on the dirt trail. The foot prints were deep and fresh, which meant someone had been here recently. Another good sign was the distinct print pattern of someone wearing size thirteen sneakers. A tiny smile formed on Casey’s face as her teeth chattered and her breath became steamy. If these footprints went on forever, she would walk forever. This was too good of a lead to throw away those sleepless nights.

Just a powerful yawn and a few more steps later and Officer Rasmussen’s flashlight shone brightly in the face of a shivering twenty-something sitting against the tree with little to protect him from the cold other than tattered blue jeans and a ripped hooded sweatshirt. Size thirteen sneakers as well; it was definitely him. But what the hell was this young man doing with a dream-catcher in his shaking hands?

“Eric Bradley? My name is Officer Casey Rasmussen. I’m here to bring you back home to your mother. You’ve been gone for a whole month. She’s worried sick about you. Come on, let’s get you warmed up in the car.”

But as Casey approached the shaky and erratic manchild, he crawled backwards while holding the dream-catcher in her face like a priest with a crucifix. “Stay back! I don’t want to go back home! She’s evil! She poisons my food! She wants to make me into one of her zombies!”

The cop laid her weapons belt on the ground, a belt which contained a pistol, pepper spray, and a stun gun. While holding her hands up in surrender, she kicked the belt off to the side, but not too far out of sight. “I’m not here to hurt you, Eric. Your mother doesn’t want to hurt you either. You don’t mean those things. How long has it been since you’ve taken your schizophrenia medication?”

“Not long enough!” shouted Eric. A tense silence hung in the frigid night air, making chatters and shivers even more audible between the nervous cop and civilian. Even in pants-wetting fear, Eric held that dream-catcher like it was his own version of a pistol, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Casey tiptoed over to Eric, who crawled backwards just as slowly until the cop caught up with him and sat next to him against one of the trees. Mr. Bradley’s hostility soothed into calmness as he threw his dream-catcher to the side and gently rested his hooded head against the rough bark.

“That dream-catcher is special to you, isn’t it, Eric? Your mother told me that it’s your favorite thing to play with,” said Casey with a warm smile.

“Play with? Shit, this thing was supposed to do something for those goddamn voices. It’s supposed to heal me. Turns out it’s just a bunch of urban voodoo bullshit,” said Eric. He banged his head against the tree and breathed deeply and rapidly during his rant. “I just want them to shut up. Is it too much to ask? Why won’t they let me live in peace? High school is over. They’re all gone! Those stupid jocks are never coming back! Why do they keep talking to me?! Why do they keep calling me every fucking insult in the book?! Why are they laughing at me?!” Eric began pounding the dirt ground like a child having a fit.

The only reason he stopped was because Casey grabbing his hands snapped him out of that nightmarish trance. She looked sternly into his eyes and said, “Listen to me, Eric. That dream-catcher is not going to heal you, you’re right. Then again, neither will forgetting to take your pills or skipping your therapy sessions. You were doing great after you got out of high school. And then somewhere along the way, you…”

With tears in his eyes and snot in his nose, Eric interrupted, “I what? I blew it? Is that what you’re going to tell me? That I fucking blew it?!” He stood up and towered over the seated Casey, who had her hands raised defensively. He pointed harshly at her and ranted, “What do you know about me and what I’ve been through?! Are you some kind of shrink now?! Do you want to pick my brain?! Nobody’s picking my brain tonight! Keep your poisonous food and pills, because I see the world for what it really is: a shit-hole! A putrid…vile…evil…shit-hole! It’s fucking dystopia all over again!”

Casey decided this conversation was going nowhere fast and performed a double-leg takedown on Eric, who thrashed his arms and wailed like a baby. The cop advanced her position to his chest and held his arms straight in a bear hug. No matter how many times Eric yelled, “Let me go!” Casey continued to restrain her target with a firm grasp. Eric’s yells got more frantic and less intelligible, but he eventually gave up and broke down crying.

“It’s too late for me, Officer!” he sobbed. “I’ll never be the same again! I’ll never write poetry like I used to! I’ll never make money on my own! No woman will want to be with me after this! I’m useless! Damn it, I’m useless!” Casey shushed him a few times and the rabid crying defused to a gentle weep.

“You need help, Eric. This is not the way people are supposed to live. You can’t live out here in this forest on your own. How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything other than berries and nuts?” asked Officer Rasmussen in a gentle whisper.

“It’s better than choking down that poison my mom cooks,” said Eric.

Casey got off her target’s chest and sat on her knees in front of him. “You’re right about one thing: I don’t know what you’ve been through. I only know what your mother told me about you. I keep trying to talk to you, but you’re going off on different tangents and not making any sense. This needs to stop, Eric. Please, come with me. Not just for your mother’s sake, but for yours. Is this really how you want to live?”

A monstrous growl echoed across the scene and glowing animal eyes lingered in the background. Casey and Eric watched on in horror as the creature’s fangs came into the light. A thick coat of brown fur encased this savage forest warrior as the drooling wolf descended upon its victims. Casey and Eric slowly made it to their feet and tiptoed backwards to avoid aggravating the beast any further.

The wolf lunged at the pair with the intent to rip flesh and shatter bones. Casey pushed Eric out of the way and felt the wrath of this beast’s teeth sinking into her leg. She bled profusely as she stumbled over in an attempt to reach her weapons belt. The more she struggled, the tighter the wolf’s fangs latched onto her leg. But struggle she did. She clawed into the dirt and dragged her tired body across the ground. She was fingertips away from her belt, but the massive bleeding in her leg caused her to feel lightheaded. The weapons she needed were a blur to her and everything was fading to black.

And then the razor-sharp teeth in her leg released their grip as Eric let out a primal scream and palm struck the wolf in the nose, the most sensitive part of a dog’s body. The wolf ran away whining and moaning, but the bleeding in Casey’s leg created a flood around her body. Eric was pacing back and forth nervously biting his fingernails wondering what to do next. When the answers didn’t come to him, he dropped to his knees and let out yet another primal scream while pounding his forehead with his fists.

Despite the brutal wound, Casey found enough strength to sit up on her butt and contain Eric with another bear hug. With one arm wrapped around her target, she pressed the buttons on her walky-talky and said, “I need an ambulance to come down to Redwood Forest stat! Officer down and suspect Eric Bradley is having a breakdown! Over!”

The cop and the suspect breathed sighs of relief and plopped on their backs when there was a “Roger that!” on the other end of that transmission.

Eric sobbed softly and asked, “What’s going to happen to me now, Officer? Am I going to be locked up in a nut house? Wherever I’m going, I don’t want to be out here anymore. I hate this place! I hate it!”

Casey held Eric’s hand and said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Eric. You’ve endangered a lot of people with your behavior prior to coming to the forest. That’s why your mom called us. But after you saved my ass tonight, I’m going to make sure you get the best treatment you can possibly get. With any luck, you’ll go straight to the psychiatric hospital and you won’t have to do jail time.” She chuckled in a petrified manner and said, “Shit, man, I should have known punching the wolf in the nose would have gotten him off me. That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Eric turned to Casey, smiled, and said, “Now who’s fucked up in the head?”

"A Pedigree To Die For" by Laurien Berenson

BOOK TITLE: A Pedigree To Die For: A Melanie Travis Mystery

AUTHOR: Laurien Berenson

YEAR: 1995

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Cozy Mystery

GRADE: Pass

Melanie Travis is a single mother who tries to balance getting her life back in order with solving the murder of her uncle Max Turnbull. The Turnbulls made their living by breeding poodles and showing them off at dog competitions. Their most prized stud, Beau, is missing from his kennel after Max’s aggravated heart attack. With her firebrand Aunt Peg coaching her along the way, Melanie shows up at the dog contests looking for evidence as to who might be in possession of the kidnapped Beau. She starts off with a bunch of hopeless dead ends, but as the mystery progresses, blackmail, corruption, and murder become much stronger themes in analyzing the clues.

When I first started reading this, I had my doubts as to whether this would be a realistic mystery due to all of the dead ends Melanie hits along the way. And then I realized that trial and error have always been a part of the mystery genre. Narrowing the suspects down to one is hard and tiring work, especially with as many enthusiastic dog show competitors as there are. Sometimes the pieces don’t click together right away. Sometimes Aunt Peg seems more like a pain in the butt than a true detective. However, if you continue reading, the plot will thicken near the middle of the book. The further you delve into this mystery, the more you want to know until the search hits its climax. That is the true nature of mystery stories and my doubts have been blasted out of the water by Laurien Berenson’s masterful storytelling techniques.

Another thing I love about this book is how realistic Melanie’s parenting skills are and how they make her into a sympathetic and likeable character right away. She’s recently divorced from her husband Bob and is left to take care of four-year-old Davey. The little guy is a bundle of energy that can keep on going like the dynamo he is. Even though Melanie is driven nuts by his ballistic behavior, she handles it like a champ and shows infinite patience for her special little guy. She knows when to tell him no and knows when to let him play and discover. She also takes him to McDonald’s every once and a while for yummy food. The fact that she can balance raising Davey by herself while solving her uncle’s murder will make any reader believe in girl power all over again.

Where would I be without mentioning the cuteness of the puppy-duppies being displayed in the pages of this wonderfully-written novel? They’re just as energetic as little Davey and show undying loyalty and love to whoever is around them. They sit on laps, they stick their wet noses into people, they smile like they’re actually capable of saying cheese, and they play around like innocent little cherubs. I wouldn’t mind scooping up some of these puppy-dups and bringing them home with me. One thing I would like to clarify is that you’ll hear the words “stud” and “bitch” quite liberally in this book. They’re not meant to refer to sexually active men and nasty women respectively, but rather to the gender of the dogs and whether or not they’ll be used for breeding. Try not to laugh when you hear about a “stud servicing many bitches.” It doesn’t mean what you think it means. You can laugh a little bit, but do try to contain yourself. It’s a cozy mystery, after all, not an erotic romance.

The pacing of this book is smooth and steady. As a reader, you can get inside Melanie Travis’ head, process the clues she picks up, and sense the body language of others while maintaining a reasonable speed. No purple prose here, which is probably the wisest option if you’re going to write a mystery novel. It also helps that the clues are easy to put together and that the explanations don’t take too many lines of text. Many avid readers could probably blow through this book in twenty-four hours. Even with its slick reading pace, it doesn’t feel over too soon and it’s a complete story with no stone left unturned. That’s the best kind of mystery you could ask for from an author like Laurien Berenson.

Maybe this isn’t the most life-changing book you’ll ever read, but it’s definitely a fun-filled, well-thought-out story that will keep you entertained from cover to cover. If you like dogs, strong female characters, or murder mysteries, I’m sure this book will have something to your liking. I happen to like all three of those qualities, so I enjoyed the book very much. A passing grade goes to an author I’ll definitely want to read another book from. Congratulations on a successful debut of Melanie Travis!

Mastodon

“Ten-thousand gold pieces for the capture of mass murderer Courtney Robyn, wanted dead or alive.” That seemed like a sweet deal to Christopher Brown. Find the craziest bitch in the town of Middlesex, cock the sniper’s crossbow, fire, repeat. Shouldn’t be too hard for a pro like Christopher. He’d only been tracking her for a whole goddamn year with no solid leads and minimal sleep.

And boy, did his lack of sleep ever show itself in the most obvious ways: constant yawning, dark circles under his eyes, depression, bad posture, and hazy vision. He wouldn’t have sacrificed his health so easily if that ten-thousand gold piece reward wasn’t badly needed.

For all the times he was wide awake, he thought of the fact that his log cabin of a home was falling apart little by little. The rainy weather was warping the wood, termites were chewing on it like beef jerky, and sleeping at night was impossible anyways due to the cold temperature and wet blankets. Finding a new place to live, preferably something worthy of royalty, wasn’t just for the sake of convenience; it was do or die in the worst possible sense.

As Christopher Brown walked down the street in his studded and spiked leather armor with the crossbow strapped to his back, he suddenly felt energized and awake, as if the danger of his situation shot a river of adrenaline through his veins. That was because after a year of hunting clues, he had that bitch Courtney Robyn clear in his sights.

Try as she might to conceal her appearance in a monk’s robe, she made one mistake when attempting to shake off bounty hunters: she didn’t brush her teeth. Christopher could smell that horrific oral stench from a whole block away: children’s blood mixed with women’s flesh and men’s muscles. Courtney’s victims were all dismembered and mauled in some way, leading authorities to at first believe they were attacked by wild animals. But these butchering marks were too perfect for animal paws. These bodies were dissected like a turkey’s corpse: with the intention to be eaten.

Time to collect a paycheck and get this cannibal off the streets for good. Christopher stood on the street corner and watched as the familiar and foul smelling “monk” in brown robes headed to a fruit stand in the bazaar. The street markets were filled with all sorts of customers and food mongers whether dinner that evening was fish, meat, or in Courtney Robyn’s case, fruit, probably to cleanse her breath.

Christopher approached his target with the vast number of customers in the bazaar getting out of his way since he was the most intimidating guy there. Brown hair in a ponytail with a scraggly beard and a face tattoo? Yeah, you’d better move. By the time he made it to the fruit stand, however, Courtney had already made him.

She threw off her brown robes and pulled a crying baby away from its mother before holding a jagged blade to the little guy’s throat. This was her alright: curly blond hair, the face of a demon, the clothes of a street dweller, and the breath of a cannibalistic monster. As soon as Christopher drew his crossbow and pointed, Courtney threatened, “Don’t take another step, bounty hunter, or the baby gets it!” She then kicked the hysterically crying mother in the shin to shut her up. The baby, on the other hand, was noisy enough for everyone in the bazaar, who were now fleeing the scene.

“Courtney, if you so much as pin prick that baby, I’ll put a bolt right through your fucking head! I know how you are! You’ll kill anybody as long as they taste good! I bet that baby tastes like pumpkin pie, but you’re never going to know if I get a good head shot!” threatened Christopher.

“Oh, you’re so good! You truly are an avid professional! I can smell the sweat equity you put into hunting me down…and that sweat smells like heavenly butter on that delicious man meat of yours!” said Courtney as she ran her monstrous tongue across her yellow teeth and chapped lips.

“I’m warning you, you psychotic bitch! Put the baby down or else…”

“Or else what?” The Mexican standoff ended when Courtney threw the screaming baby like a football into Christopher’s line of vision, hoping he’d pull the trigger of his crossbow out of instinct. His finger was itchy and twitchy, but he never fired. He dropped his crossbow, dove forward, and caught the baby in his muscular arms.

He spoke calmly to the little guy in a cutesy-wutesy voice while the mother limped up to the two of them crying herself. Christopher got up from the ground and handed the baby back to his mother, being ever so gentle despite his own scary appearance. “Thank you so much!” said the tattered clothed mother before she hugged him around his thick neck.

In all of this excitement, Christopher had lost eye contact with his target Courtney Robyn. The baby toss was just a diversion to help her get away. As the bounty hunter hugged the teary mother back, he was doing it also because a year’s worth of work had just gone to waste. His eyes would get blacker, his bed would get colder, and his depression would get heavier. In his mind, he cursed himself for being so “stupid”. On the outside, he held onto the hug for a little too long and the mother and her baby had to struggle to break free, which they did.

The mother and her baby would have the same reasons to cry as the rest of the bazaar customers, who were still running away in packs. Courtney Robyn didn’t escape from Christopher Brown. She didn’t want to. After a few loud, earth-trembling steps that cracked the cement roads, it was apparent that the cannibalistic murderer was still in control. Of all the animals to be riding, she had to chose a mastodon.

Not just any mastodon, but one powerful enough to squash large numbers of people like ants underneath its massive feet and towering legs. The body of this magnificent creature was stiff with muscles that made riding it feel like laying in firm bed, a luxury Christopher wish he had. Courtney Robyn, being arrogant and crude, rubbed it in by laying on her back with her hands behind her head while the beast of burden trampled through the crowd.

Some were fortunate enough to pack themselves in the alleyways and huddle underneath dustbins. Most of the customers were trying to outrun the godlike beast and got crushed and bloodied for their efforts. The streets of Middlesex looked like a battlefield with the number of flattened carcasses laying about. Christopher’s crossbow looked like someone had spilled toothpicks on the ground when it too was crunched.

Christopher himself, on the other hand, took a different route from the rest of the pack: he began scaling the buildings. The buildings were made with bulging stones held together with shallow cement, so sticking his feet and hands between spaces was easy. Climbing quickly was even easier since the adrenaline made him forget about his depressive tiredness.

But then the mighty mastodon was bumping into buildings as more people were trying to get away from it. The whole incident felt like a mosh pit with the mastodon crushing and smashing everything and anyone in its path. Courtney had done a hell of a job of riling the beast up, yet she was the most comfortable on its back. What a sick prick.

Christopher was beginning to slip and slide from his climbing position, but he was so close to the top. He could feel that final stone with in his muscular grasp. He held on with such tightness that it resembled the kind of chokehold he wanted to do to Courtney. The building continued to shake with the mastodon’s fury and Christopher’s fingers were getting weaker. With the last of his fingertips slipping away, he plummeted to the ground below in what was sure to be a splatter punk death.

He didn’t land on the cement ground to be pummeled, though. He landed right on the mastodon’s back with Courtney just now “waking up”. The spikes and studs in Christopher’s leather armor were so sharp and jutted so far that they irritated the mastodon like a bad case of flees. The destructive monster bucked around in the air like a rodeo bull, jostling Courtney and Christopher into the air and onto the cracked and split pavement.

In the last few seconds of consciousness he had after hitting the ground with deadly impact, Christopher could see the feet of not only bazaar customers fleeing, but also animal tamers lashing ropes around the mastodon to try and tame the beast. It was a relief to see the monstrous animal subdued within the world’s longest minutes. He could finally go to sleep.

No, he couldn’t! With one gloved hand, he held his left eyelid open. With the other, he rolled over on his belly and dragged himself over to where Courtney was laying. Christopher’s vision was blurry at best, but he knew the positioning all too well. She landed on the back of her neck with her legs doubled over her face.

Just a few more drags across the pavement with the detached studs in the bounty hunter’s armor irritating his skin. Another one. And another one. With bloody skin and quite possibly broken bones, Christopher Brown was finally able to drape his arm over Courtney’s lifeless body. Any authority figure looking at the two of them would know that Courtney was his catch and nobody else’s. They’d have no choice but to pay up and hopefully witnesses would back Christopher up if they didn’t.

Maybe the mother with the frightened baby could be a witness. Maybe the stony ground wasn’t such a bad place to nod off after all. Maybe…maybe…zzzzzzzzzzzzz….Goodnight, Christopher Brown. Rest in peace, Courtney Robyn.