Showing posts with label Negativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Negativity. Show all posts

Saturday, January 16, 2021

Characters Without Aspirations

 If somebody is living a “normal” life, it’s seen as a positive. If somebody is living an “average” life, it’s seen indifferently. However…if somebody is living a “mediocre” life, then shame on that person. Normal, average, and mediocre all have the same meaning, yet their connotations are different across each word. Normal and average characters are relatable, but mediocre ones are looked down up with disgust. But when a critic is talking about a mediocre character, they’re not usually talking about the character’s upbringing, education, or work life. Mediocrity often means the character has no ambitions, dreams, or aspirations. Three-dimensional characters are the best kind and a character cannot be three-dimensional without at least one feasible goal or lifelong dream. That’s what we’ve been taught as writers because that’s what makes a story interesting to begin with.


But is that always the case? Do characters HAVE to have big dreams and aspirations? Commonsense would dictate that a character-driven story would mean having the MC pursue an end game. But what if the character had no dreams or aspirations at all? Sounds pretty boring, doesn’t it? Until you dig a little deeper into why that is. Maybe the character is so depressed that he can’t see a future for himself. Maybe he’s older and subscribes to the “don’t follow your passion” rhetoric that conservatives of his generation like to preach. Maybe he’s a younger child who’s been brainwashed by the school system into believing that STEM jobs are the only kind that matter. With the latter case, the brainwashed child in question has a goal, but not the one he originally intended. Does that count? Not if he’s going through the motions.


Mediocrity isn’t fun to read about, but the reasons behind it can be. In fact, the reasons alone could turn an otherwise dull character into someone to root for. Maybe the goal is to break the cycle of mediocrity and become his own person. Maybe the goal is to murder the people responsible for creating his dull situation. Wait a minute. Did that get a little too extreme for you? Is it really reasonable for a mundane character to go around stabbing people to death if they forced him into a life of boredom? Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, you’ve got a compelling story on your hand. 


Conformity through brainwashing or creative suppression can be a powerful thing. That’s why millennials and Gen Z people tend to dislike Mike Rowe, because he’s using his platform to encourage capitalistic conformity. Conforming to society will make you more presentable in the eyes of the CEO’s writing your checks. Okay, Boomer, enough is enough.


While most people do want to break the chains of capitalism and tell Mike Rowe to suck a big fat one, there are legitimate slackers in society. I’m sure you, my lovely audience, have gone to school with a few of these guys. They don’t do homework. They spend their time in class shooting spitballs and fucking around. They mouth off to the teacher when they’re receiving genuine criticism. While these students don’t make up an entire generation nor can they not be saved, they do exist and they can often be interesting characters to read about. 


It’s easy to tell this lackadaisical student to “get a job” and “stop screwing around”. But have you ever been inside the mind of one of these students? Maybe the sour attitude is a cover-up for suppressed trauma. Maybe he doesn’t feel like there’s any hope for him after all. Or maybe he just wants to play videogames and fuck the world. Even the latter of those choices can be made into three-dimensional character work if an author knows what the hell he’s doing.


You’re probably reading all of this and are digging into the recesses of your mind trying to find examples of mediocre characters that are fun to read about. You want to find the difference between being lost in a dream due to aspirations and lost in a dream because he doesn’t want to wake up and face the world. Not a book, per se, but the 1994 comedy Clerks is a good example of this. Dante works at the Quick Stop Convenience Store and has no plans of bettering his life, yet he constantly complains about the situation he’s in. His friend Randal works at RST Video Store and doesn’t mind slacking off every once and a while as long as he gets to anger the customers. 


Two mediocre workers, different clashing mindsets. They have little goals here and there. Dante wants to get back together with his ex-girlfriend Caitlin while still dating a superior woman in Veronica. He wants to play hockey on the rooftop. He wants to go to a funeral to say goodbye to one of his exes. But are any of these goals really going to get him out of his depressive funk? No fucking way. Even if he somehow achieves these goals, he’ll go right back to where he was the next day: tedium and shitty customers. Dante and Randal have painfully ordinary lives, yet Clerks is considered a cult classic and Kevin Smith’s best movie of all time.


But if you’re going to intentionally write a mediocre character and have him lead the charge, his uncaring attitude should mesh well with his environment. If the character is a humanoid dragon barbarian fighting for his life in a dark fantasy kingdom with demons, devils, and zombies chewing on his flesh, that MC cannot afford to be mediocre for even a second. Yes, Gary-Stus exist, but in a fantasy or sci-fi setting, they’re frowned upon. Speculative fiction is known for having colorful worlds where the author’s imagination runs wild. Crystal castles in the sky, fireball magic spells, temptress witches, electromantic dragons, sneaky goblins, they’ve got it all! If a character is mediocre in an above-average setting, then that’s a problem.


But…what if a character is mediocre in a BELOW-average setting? What if the fantasy world has turned to absolute shit and the character gives into his urges to give up all hope? It doesn’t even have to be a nuclear apocalypse, no, no, no. It could be worldwide blight. It could be constant darkness. It could be monsters and zombies overrunning everything. Or it could be an actual world of shit, because there’s nowhere else to go to the bathroom. Losing hope and giving up easily would be perfectly understandable in a below-average hellscape. At that point, the character has two choices: give up entirely and submit to the Lovecraftian negativity, or find smaller goals to achieve if only to make life a little more bearable than it was before.


By choosing the latter of those two scenarios, your characters cease to be mediocre. An example of this is a 2009 movie called Zombieland. As the title would suggest, zombies have taken over the world and are chewing on humans like bubblegum. Fuck hope, because it’ll never come back no matter how many shotgun shells are popped off at these undead cannibals. The world will never return to its normal state. So what do the characters do? They cope. They don’t solve everything. They cope. Woody Harrelson’s character wants to find Twinkies and eat them like he was a zombie himself. The two girls in the zombie-escaping team want to go to a theme park and party it up. The main character? He just wants to see his family again. By having these little goals to keep them company in an otherwise shitty world, a run-of-the-mill comedy has become a three-dimensional story that deserves all the praise it gets.


In case it wasn’t apparent by now, mediocrity itself isn’t good or bad (that’s the very definition of the word). It’s what an author does with it that counts the most. Hell, it can even apply to real life, even in a nonconformist setting. It doesn’t have to be all about brainwashing and Boomerisms. Sometimes those big dreams aren’t what they appear to be when examined further. I had lots of dreams when I was younger, but didn’t realize how damaging those pursuits will be until I grew older. I wanted to be a pro-wrestler, but that would involve exhausting exercise, injuries, tedious travel, and bullying from the higher ups. I wanted to be a heavy metal singer, but that would also involve tedious travel, along with clashing egos, heavy criticism, potential drug and alcohol use, meaningless sex, and yes, sometimes injuries. I wanted to be a screenwriter, but that would involve traveling to Hollywood and potentially being molested by Harvey Weinstein or someone just like him. 


After all of those options, the one I decided was least detrimental to both my mental and physical health was the life of an author. I can still indulge in my creative fantasies. I can still tell Mike Rowe to get fucked. I can still be a productive person. And above all else, no injuries! Have you ever heard about an author who broke his neck while typing a novel? No, and you never will. Maybe mental injuries could be more prevalent with worldwide criticism and general trolling, but that’s not enough to keep me from pursing my dreams of being an author. I live a normal life without submitting to mediocrity. I guess I could be a three-dimensional character in someone’s novel. Or I could just do a complete self-insert, one of the two.

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Conditioned to Ignore Me


VERSE 1
The Clockwork Orange magic spell
Gave you a brainwashed story to tell
Conditioned to ignore me no matter what
Whether I hurt inside or have a deeper cut
I could burn a building to the ground
Or I could rescue an abused hound
Optimist, pessimist, who gives a fuck?
If it’s a cry for help, I’m shit out of luck

CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen

VERSE 2
Pavlov’s sorcery has got you by the balls
Conditioned to laugh whenever I fall
Conditioned to walk right past me
Conditioned to low-key blast me
It’s meat paste and the bell once again
Making drooling slaves out of good friends
I could burn the world or buy you pearls
Who’d give a fuck? Any boy or girl?

CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen

VERSE 3
I could hack the biggest computer database
I could kiss my kitty on his fuzzy little face
I could ride a nuclear missile like a horsy
I could pet every Labrador and every Corgi
Your conditioned response is still the same
To forget that I exist or that I have a name
Who put this spell on your pretty little head?
Who was the one who wished your soul dead?

EXTENDED CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen
Conditioned to reject me
Chew me up then digest me
Because I can’t scream loud enough
Somebody else already has it rough

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Dumb Ass Shit

***DUMB ASS SHIT***

One of the things we share as human beings is a tendency to make mistakes, especially during our younger years when we’re just figuring out the world. To put it in harsher terms, we’ve all said and done…say it with me…dumb ass shit. Nobody is immune to this, because nobody is perfect. As long as you don’t cross the Moral Event Horizon (rape, murder, etc.), you’re entitled to make these little mistakes that you can learn from. If you’ve ever watched a Young Turks video where they’re discussing a teenaged subject, you’ll notice that the pundits can be forgiving of them because they too said and did…say it again…dumb ass shit when they were younger.

Yes, it’s true, ladies and gentlemen: I too have a history of saying and doing dumb ass shit, especially as it relates to the internet. I’ve looked back at some of the things I’ve posted on my Deviant Art, Blogger, and Face Book accounts and I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I could just delete these posts, but seeing as how there are so fucking many of them, it’ll take more time than I care to spend. Many of the things I’ve posted could be construed as bigoted in some way, though my intentions were only to be “edgy” or “funny”. I just read a nonfiction essay I wrote in 2009 called “Class of ‘13” where I accuse teenagers of being text-messaging queens that need strict discipline. Holy shit, did I really expect people to laugh at that? What about Hardcore Harry, a Harry Potter parody where the main character says he’s afraid of Draco Malfoy’s “homosexual urges”. Shaking my head, folks. Shaking my head.

Apparently, it took me a long time for me to mature throughout the years, because I’ve been saying dumb shit in 2014 as well. My blogger.com posts at the time were riddled with depressing anecdotes about songs that made me cry or romantic couples in fiction that made me wish I had love too. One of my now deleted books, Foe vs. Blade, has an introductory chapter where I list off all of the major bad shit that’s happened in my life from high school until the date of publication. It wasn’t until 2015 that I started posting about positive things in my life and, surprise, surprise, I became a happier person because of it. I knew Rhonda Byrne’s book would come in handy someday.

So, I don’t know if you the audience plan on digging through my internet postings, but if you see something buried beneath the happy and accepting stuff that could be construed as “dumb ass shit”, know that I am no longer proud of such things. Being “edgy” isn’t nearly as important as being intelligent and wise. Even the edgiest of edgy artists have to have a reason for their R-rated jokes. I’ve said and done my fair share of stupid shit in my life and I’ve learned from all of it. This is not a cheap attempt at obtaining forgiveness, but if I keep kicking myself over these things, then I’m forever stuck in the past. We can all grow from our mistakes and become decent people.

I figured writing this blog would be easier than going through my internet history and wiping it clean of…say it again…dumb ass shit. But even if I was able to give my internet history the Mr. Clean treatment, there’s that old adage of things being on the internet forever. So instead, I’m going to say this: I’m sorry for all the dumb ass shit. It’s not me, it’s not who I want to be, and it’s not important to my career. Let’s move forward. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

As long as we’re on the topic of dumb ass shit, here’s something I attempted months ago, but never got off the ground. It’s called “Hardcore Hogan” (not to be confused with “Hardcore Harry”) and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

  1. Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
  2. Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
  3. Kasabian, Alien Lord
  4. Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.


***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are some large groups out there whose names are a little mixed up. The Department of Water and Power. Well, water and power don’t go together, ‘cause you’ll get fucking electrocuted. Then you have the Food and Drug Administration. Well, with most drugs, you don’t have any food, except for marijuana, but they shouldn’t be bothering people with marijuana to begin with. And then you have that really interesting organization, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Do I even have to discuss this one? Bad combination. Here’s what you do. You call the police the Department of Power and Firearms. Then you have the Food and Water Administration. Those are two things you need to survive: food and water. And then you have the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Drugs, which keeps all the good shit in one place.


-George Carlin-

Friday, November 4, 2016

Fishing For Sharks

VERSE 1
You spit cobra venom all over the page
You breathe fire on those who dare rage
You shoot bullets at those who attack
Only to find a jagged blade in your back

CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above

VERSE 2
Are you running with giants or fishing for sharks?
Are you creating drama or a dramatic story arc?
Are you setting the world on fire or burning bridges?
Answer wrongly and you’ll sleep with the fishes

CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above

VERSE 3
Negativity will never lead to life longevity
Your world will soon crash down inevitably
Don’t bring a knife to a gun-slinging fight
Don’t bring hatred to an already hard life

CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above

FINAL VERSE
When you sling shit, you’re only soiling yourself
When you throw a fit, you’re damaging your health
Change or die, there’s nothing in between them
Grow up, move on, or get ready to be condemned
You lose one fight and it’s just like Armageddon
You lose one debate and it’s far from heaven
Get your ass up and dust off your fucking clothes

Be the very last person that this world clearly loathes

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

The Reflection of Perfection

Ian Flagg’s mouth watered at the plate of Indian curry sitting before him and another plate of the spicy treat across from him. Yet, the old man’s sniper sight focus burned a hole through the newspaper he was reading. Besides, he wouldn’t want to get any of that messy food on his clean white dress shirt and silver tie. Accountants of his social status can’t afford to look like that. A waitress came by and refilled his coffee mug, yet Ian never took his eyes away from whatever news story was assaulting his mind.

As soon as the waitress strolled away, a young man with a black ponytail, a green polo shirt, and tan khaki shorts entered the restaurant hunched over with exhaustion and stress. Then and only then did Ian take his eyes off his newspaper. The young man sat across from Ian and hung his head in exhaustion, the scent of the curry doing no favors for his energy level.

“You’re late, son. Is that acting schedule of yours keeping you down? For god’s sake, get some sleep, Payton,” said Ian.

“Sorry, Dad,” said Payton in a slow and medicated voice. “I’m assuming there’s a review of my new movie in that newspaper of yours. I stayed up until midnight reading those goddamn reviews online. What the fuck is wrong with people?”

Ian folded up his newspaper and said, “You can’t fault your critics for feeling the way they do, son. It’s a free country. Everybody’s entitled to their own opinions, even if they are overwhelmingly negative and come from a website about spoiled vegetables.” The father folded his hands across the table and said, “Son, you need to get out of this movie business. It’s not good for you. You can’t take criticism and it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Payton lifted his unshaven face and said, “So what’s the alternative to having my dream job? Doing what you do and crunch numbers all day long? No thanks, I’d rather roll around on a pile of actual rotten tomatoes.”

“Being an accountant sounds boring on the surface, I agree. Hell, most of the comedy movies out there make fun of this idea. But it’s a stable income and you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. You’re welcome for the curry, by the way,” said Ian.

Payton languidly stirred his fork around in his food and said, “Listen, pops. I spent way too much time and money just to get my acting career of the fucking ground. I’m not going to give up on it just because of some negative assholes online. Shit, man, there’s negativity everywhere I go, so I have to get immune to it sometime. Maybe not right now, but eventually.”

“But that’s the thing, Payton. You don’t get used to harsh criticism. You don’t improve your craft. You don’t get better in life. You feel like this world owes you something and you don’t cash in on that opportunity.” Ian leaned his face closer as if to intensify the seriousness of this conversation. “Payton, you need help. You need to start making some real money so that you don’t have to live like a goddamn bum.”

“So that’s it, huh?” said the actor as he shrugged his shoulders. “One failure and I should just give up on my dreams?”

“We’re not just talking about one failure, son. We’re talking about being universally panned by every critic in the country. I don’t care how good of an actor you are, because nobody can recover from something like that. You wouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing if you got a math degree and took up accounting like me.”

After a while of glaring in disbelief at his father, Payton stood up, slammed his palms on the table (nearly knocking his curry on the floor), and screamed, “Fuck you, old man! Fuck you! You talk about stable incomes and the world not owing me anything, yet you sit here thinking that I owe you my dreams and my hard work! You’re a conformist! You’re a soul-dead son of a bitch and you want the whole world to be just as boring and sad as you! I don’t care how much money you’re making, because all the money in the world can’t buy you a charismatic personality!”

Ian stood up and slammed his own palms on the table before shouting back, “I’m trying to look after you, you goddamn fool! I don’t want you to end up homeless and begging for handouts! If you keep spiraling out of control like this, you’re going to hit rock bottom and you’re never coming back!”

Some of the restaurant patrons stared at the father-son duo with shock on their faces while others turned heel and walked away altogether. The waitress who filled Ian’s coffee earlier approached him and said, “Excuse me, sir, but the two of you need to calm down or else I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Ian held his palm in the waitress’s face and said, “I’m trying to get through to my idiot son, so if you could stay out of this conversation, that’d be wonderful!”

“Idiot?! You think I’m an idiot because I actually believe in myself?! You think I’m an idiot just because I refuse to give up?! I’d rather be an idiot than a boring piece of shit like you!” shouted Payton.

“This so-called boring piece of shit is alive and well thanks to his steady income, which is more than I can say about a fuck-up like you walking around in those slob clothes! You have a decision to make, young man! Either accept your responsibilities as a grown adult or live like a child and die of starvation! Life may be boring and sad, but it’s not going to change anytime soon just because you like to rebel against the system! The system is in place for a reason, son, because it works!” yelled Ian.

“Hey!” snapped the waitress, who finally found her footing in this conversation after shaking nervously throughout the screaming matches. “I’ve had it up to here with you two scaring away the customers! You can either calm down and eat your lunches or I can get my supervisor and have the two of you blackballed from here! Do you understand me?!”

The father and son slowly sat back down and glared at each other with fiery vision. “You know what?” said Payton as he dug in his shorts for his wallet. “I’m going to go ahead and pay for my meal and leave on my own terms. I don’t have a whole lot of money in my bank account, but not to worry, because that’ll all be fixed once I start crunching numbers in a plain old office. Here, take my goddamn card.”

The waitress eyeballed Payton’s debit card for a while before a small smile formed on her face. “You’re Payton Flagg? The actor?”

“Guilty as charged, though I don’t know if ‘the actor’ fits me anymore,” said Payton in a bummed out voice.

The waitress’s smile grew wider as she said, “You know what? I don’t care what any of those morons on Rotten Tomatoes think. I thought that movie was hilarious. I love dirty humor!”

A look of shocked disbelief formed on Ian’s face while one of surprise formed on Payton’s. The actor said, “Do you really mean that?”

“No, I’m screwing with you. Of course I mean it, you silly goose!” said the waitress with a giggle. “I’m training to become an actress myself. You wouldn’t mind letting me in on some of your connections would you?” The waitress playfully elbowed Payton in the arm.

“I don’t know. My connections aren’t exactly…”

“Come on, Payton, what’s the worst that could happen? You got your foot in the door, didn’t you? That’s more than I can say for myself right now. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be working here. What do you say? Will you hook me up?” said the waitress with a Hollywood smile.

Payton smiled himself and said, “You know what? I think that’s a good idea. I’ll come back here when you get off work and I’ll introduce you to some of my guys.”


“Yes!” squealed the waitress before hugging and thanking Payton repeatedly. It was an awkward hug, but Payton wrapped his arms anyways. He also gave his father a smart-assed wink before the tie-wearing sad sap rested his forehead in his hands. Even though Ian knew his son wasn’t the reflection of perfection, it hurt even more to know he was bested by the little hipster. Blind conformity seemed like a foolish route after all.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Family Support

Not everyone can be born into a family that completely supports their creative endeavors. Ivan Moody from Five Finger Death Punch regularly expects that his mother will bury him when the topic of musical careers comes up. And yet, if it wasn’t for Ivan’s mom being an oppressive jerk, we wouldn’t have songs like “The Devil’s Own” and “Remember Everything”. Ivan Moody made a fortune off of his life experiences. Not everybody does that. In fact, the stresses of life often keep artists from achieving their full potential. If a teacher insults a child’s poetry, the child may never write creatively again for fear that the horrible memory will haunt him in the middle conceiving a poem. Emotional trauma is a powerful thing, especially to a small child who has a hard enough time determining which pieces of advice are useful and which ones are bullshit. I have a message for both adults and children of all ages. Adults, if you see a piece of art you don’t like, don’t tell the artist that he sucks and should never create again. There’s always somebody else out there who will enjoy the piece of art, so your opinion isn’t the only one that matters. Hard to believe, right? And kids, if somebody tells you that you’ll never make it in a creative field, don’t listen to them. Filtering out negative messages is hard, I agree. Sometimes that message will haunt your mind relentlessly until you finally do give in. The secret is to never give in. If you’re writing something and the negativity is turning your brain to primordial soup, keep writing until you’re finished with the poem or prose. Success is the best way to prove your critics wrong. But then comes the question of what defines success. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll make millions of dollars and have swarms of horny women gathering at your front door. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes all you need to be successful is a happy attitude. If you’re genuinely happy with your work, that should be the only thing that matters. If one other person is happy with your work, that matters too. That doesn’t mean you should avoid constructive critique, because that can actually be helpful. Keep the compliments, keep the critique, but filter out the negative vibes. The secret to success is finding the right support system. It’s out there if you look hard enough. Someone out there likes you, that much I promise. Ivan Moody’s mother didn’t support him, so he found band mates and audience members that did. There is hope out there somewhere and there is life after emotional trauma.

 

***PROVERB OF THE DAY***

“You don’t stop laughing because you get old, you get old because you stop laughing.”

-Unknown-

Saturday, January 19, 2013

"The Secret" by Rhonda Byrne




Ever hear the phrase, “You get out what you put in?” Keep this phrase in mind as you read “The Secret” from cover to cover. This self-help guide reiterates something known as the Law of Attraction, where your thoughts have a direct influence on how your life is going to be. If you firmly believe something hard enough, it’ll become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I know, I know, you’re tempted to laugh at this idea and write it off as being “new age bullshit”. The only reason why you’re saying this is because you haven’t tried it yet. A little positive thinking never hurt anybody. And when you begin to think positive, don’t just do it in the sense of good or bad, do it in the sense of yes and no. This makes a huge difference. For example, when you’re driving to work in rush hour traffic, don’t tell yourself that you’re “not going to be late”. There’s a huge difference between not being late and being on time. Tell yourself something like “I’m going to make it” or “I’ll show up on time no problem”. According to the Law of Attraction, the guy who says “I’ll show up on time” will make it to work long before the guy who says “I’m not going to be late”. Sounds crazy, but it makes a difference. And when you give yourself positive feedback, make sure you’re in a happy and calm mood instead of being aggressively stressed out. Do whatever it takes to calm yourself down whether it’s playing a comedy album or an Enya CD. Positive thoughts will entail positive results every single time. If you want examples as to how the Law of Attraction has worked for me, listen to this. When I tried to start out small, which is what the book suggests, I kept telling myself that I was going to get fried chicken for supper and I said it with unyielding conviction. The more I told myself this, the stronger the belief became. Low and behold, the very next night, mom brings home a gigantic bag of Albertson’s Fried Chicken along with Cascade Ice drinks. Needless to say, that was one satisfying meal. Keeping with the theme of chicken, the Law of Attraction has also worked against me whenever I was highly stressed out. I was shopping at Albertson’s and was in a huge rush to get home and watch WWE Monday Night Raw. I was convinced that I was going to be late if I didn’t hurry up. I buy chicken from the counter and wait in a huge line for the checkout isle. By the time I ring myself up, the price on the chicken turned out to be $33 for eight pieces of white meat. I go back to the deli, get the price corrected, and go back into the long line for the checkout isle. When I get home to watch TV, not only did I miss the first few seconds of the show, but the chicken was dry and flavorless. So what do you say, my lovely audience. Will you buy “The Secret” and try this theory out? You’ve got nothing to lose except for the money you spent buying the book, which isn’t exactly a huge amount. Just try it. Don’t blow it off. Try it!

 

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RYBACK: Feed me more!
JIM ROSS: That’s what I say everyday.