My best friend Susan asks me on a frequent basis why I like “foo-foo” media, whether it’s books, songs, movies, or TV shows. In case you don’t know what “foo-foo” means, I’ll have Colin Cassady and Enzo Amore from WWE NXT spell it out for you. If something is “foo-foo”, it means it’s S-A-W-F-T! Saaaaaaaawft!! Wait a minute, that’s not how you spell soft. I certainly hope they don’t spell it that way when they write their celebrity memoirs.
You want to know why I like certain kinds of music, foo-foo or not? It’s because the state will strip me of my social security benefits if I do recreational drugs. That’s what music is to me: a drug. A very powerful drug at that. Heavy metal songs are my stimulants and steroids while emotional foo-foo music is my Restasis, though I haven’t cried since 2007. Such is the case with “Perfect” by My Darkest Days, the ultimate breakup song where Matt Walst says he hasn’t cried since the day she left him, because that would mean that he admits its over. He tells himself that she’s trying to test him. She’d never leave, she still needs him to hold her. He shouldn’t have fallen in love with her. How dare she be so perfect.
Are you crying your eyes out yet? When you wake up tomorrow morning, will you pour milk in your cereal or will you just cry into our bowl and eat it like that? Mmm, that sounds appetizing: a full serving of Golden Grahams and tears! Yum! Even if you’ve never had a girlfriend before, you can appreciate the horror of what a breakup does to a man. I’ve had two girlfriends my entire life: Jessica and Brianna. Losing them hurt. It hurt badly. Having crushes on millions of other girls I know I’ll never have hurts just as badly, if not worse. You’re damn right I appreciate the pain of a breakup. It’s a sophisticated form of psychological torture.
If music is a drug, why would I want to take one that makes me sad? What could I possibly have to gain from being in a foo-foo state of mind? Because for a lot of artists, drugs are a great source of creative fuel. Granted, physical drugs such as acid have ruined Syd Barrett’s career as the front man for Pink Floyd. Alcohol abuse killed George Carlin. Drugs don’t work for everybody, but they work for a lot of artists who need creative fuel. My drug of choice is music and my imagination runs wild whenever I hear “Perfect” by My Darkest Days.
It’s because of songs like “Perfect” I started writing more and more romantic short stories. Just recently at the Weekly Short Story Contest at Good Reads, I wrote two shy guy romance stories, one called “It’s Okay For You To Love Me” and “I Swear I Have a Heart”, both titles being modifications of Five Finger Death Punch lyrics. Even though they both ended up in last place in the popularity polls, they were smash hits with the other members.
And you know what? It doesn’t end there. Fireball Nightmare will have some romantic elements as well. By the end of act one, it’s clear that Deus wants to find Kat and rekindle his love for her. In the very first chapter of act two, Kat expresses disdain for Deus by saying, “I still miss him, but my aim is getting better.” How dare she be so perfect. What did Deus do to deserve this? I’ll tell you what he did, Mr. Walst: he showed more fanatical devotion toward the angry fire god Vahd than he did for his own girlfriend. If I had a girlfriend who was 100% zealot and 0% lover, I’d want to dump her too. It’s going to take a lot of couch time and pillow talk for Deus Shadowheart and Kat Sexton to get along again.
And to think, this was all possible because of one emotionally taxing My Darkest Days song. Then again, most of their songs have to do with relationship woes, which is probably why they’re categorized as “pop” on my Windows Media Player instead of “rock” or “metal”.
***PARODY MIXED-MARTIAL ARTS QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Ladies and gentlemen, the corner of Pat Barry has thrown in the towel at 2:31 of the very first round. Don’t worry, he’s not bleeding, he just needs to wipe the tears out of his eyes.”
-Bruce Buffer-
I used to think that professional wrestling was the most criticized sport in the world until I started watching mixed-martial arts around the time when Brock Lesnar became the UFC Heavyweight Champion. In only a short period of time, I’ve seen all the negative aspects of the sport: homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, poor sportsmanship, cyber-bullying, unwarranted criticism, premature referee stoppages, squirrelly judging, what more can I say? There was even an incident at UFC Fight Night: Henderson vs. Khabilov where a fighter named Jason High shoved a referee after his fight was “stopped too soon”. Mr. High was cut from the UFC shortly after.
Despite all of these negativities, I still find MMA to be fascinating, which is probably why I continue to have dreams about doing MMA about as often as I have dreams about going to school. In my own subconscious, I’ve had matches with the best of every weight division. I up-kicked my way to a KO victory against Chael Sonnen, I right hooked Pat Barry into dreamland, I called out Matt Mitrione after another triumphant victory, and I even locked Nate Diaz in a kimura and made him tap out. If I insinuated that these claims were true, people would say, “In your dreams!” And they’d be right too, because these exciting MMA moments only happened in my dreams.
Truth is, if I actually tried the intense exercise regimen these fighters go through day in and day out with my clunky body, I’d pass out within seconds. My greatest claim to athletic fame is walking to the grocery store every morning to buy either a pound of popcorn chicken or three one-liter bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. Whenever I’m not “training like a champ”, I’m usually eating an oversized meal at McDonald’s or Wendy’s, usually consisting of 20 chicken tenders, the biggest burger they have (without the bun), and a large unsweetened iced tea. Not exactly the athletic lifestyle a typical MMA fighter leads.
Deep down in my subconscious, I know even though I don’t train like an athlete, the thrill of having a long winning streak and being cheered on my thousands of fans is exciting. The fight itself would be even more exciting, provided I wasn’t in the cage with a “grinder”. Perhaps these MMA dreams are a manifestation of my need for excitement.
Given the limited resources I have at my disposal, I have only a few ideas of what would constitute excitement. Writing is always an adrenaline thrill I love, especially if there’s a fight going on in my stories. Going to see an action movie at Regal Cinemas is exciting as well, my most recent one being Godzilla. If I didn’t want to go out in public, I could just rent a movie on my Roku, this time my most recent viewing adventure being the first “How To Train Your Dragon”. If I’m feeling particularly frisky, I could read “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey, which is both depressing and exciting at the same time.
The activities mentioned above are just temporary fixes, though. Once I do them, they’re done forever. I know, I know, there will always be books to read, movies to watch, and stories to write, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting a permanent high from these things. There’s too much of a wide gap of boredom in between activities. If I can find a way to shorten the gaps without turning my mind into a melting puddle of exhaustion, that would be excellent.
The sleeping dreams and waking fantasies I have just might be the answer I need for filling the boredom gaps. Thinking is the best way to travel and who travels more than an MMA fighter? I could go to Brazil from my beddy-bye and elbow my way into a Performance of the Night award. I could go to Chicago from my treks to the grocery store and guillotine choke my way to my 15th victory. And as long as we’re talking about Chicago, I could get a slice of deep dish pizza after I’m done cutting weight.
I just thought of another reason not to do MMA in real life: cutting weight. I have a hard enough time losing weight and staying away from fatty foods. If all the water was drained from my body, I still wouldn’t make the 265 lb. heavyweight limit. That, and my opponent would be awarded a KO victory automatically after I pass out on the scale. I can still dream, right? I can still exercise my subconscious creativity and make some kick-ass stories out of it, right? You’re damn right I can!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Geezers need excitement. If their lives don’t provide them this, they’ll incite violence. Commonsense. Simple commonsense.”
-The Streets rapping “Geezers Need Excitement”-
