The Big Kids

VERSE 1

Face Book liars who never retire

Instagram trolls looking for holes

Twitter tough guys in disguise

Big kids, big dicks, Heisman prize

Pushing skinny geeks to the ground

Reading their poetry in public out loud

Trolling them online all the damn time

Big trucks, big nuts, excused from crime

CHROUS 1

You are!

The big kids!

The hot shits!

The jock twins!

VERSE 2

All you motherfuckers look exactly the same

With your internet perfection and easy fame

Violent pranks played on those of lower rank

Suicidal wet dreams for the victims it seems

Black belts, letter jackets, everything you want

Money, cheerleaders, whatever you can rob

Counting down the days until summer vacation

We take out our aggression on the Playstation

EXTENDED CHROUS 1

You are!

The big kids!

The hot shits!

The jock twins!

You are!

The jarheads!

The well-fed!

The hand-led!

VERSE 3

Gamer Gate sexism turned up to eleven

Guaranteed your own cloud in the heavens

Guaranteed the keys to your own kingdom

Glass ceiling fantasy for those beneath it

Guaranteed a job for life on the cop squad

Even when we prove you’re just a fraud

Even when the corpses continue to mount

Even when this country starts to go south

EXTENDED CHROUS 2

You are!

The big kids!

The hot shits!

The jock twins!

You are!

The rich pricks!

The big dicks!

The groin kicks!

VERSE 4

Now you’re all alone with a fucking concussion

Everything you read might as well be in Russian

You burned all the bridges, betrayed your bitches

Nobody is left to help you remove your stitches

Football, trucks, money, and booze

Girls, weapons, so sure you’ll never lose

Shallow values and deep graves

You had it all, yet continued to crave

CHORUS 2

You are!

A dead soul!

An asshole!

Left in the cold!

FINAL LINES

The big kids! X4

Cody Trigger

VERSE 1

On death row, time’s moving slow

A blast to the past is where Cody goes

An adrenaline junkie, funky like a monkey

Beat some ass and earn prizefight money

Squash medieval knights like metal cans

Psychopaths are his number one fans

He doesn’t care if you’re man, beast, or car

He’ll knock your ass down and rip you apart

CHORUS

Criminal Uppercut! Ruffian Kick!

Cheap Shot Stone! Dagger tricks!

Final Destruction! Dead End Irony!

Still want to brag about being fiery?!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

VERSE 2

He could save Metro City, but not himself

He’s nowhere near the hero we knew so well

Can he save us all from the Lavos apocalypse?

If he turns his back, can you still be an apologist?

Can he play nice with the red-haired samurai?

Can he be sweeter to Marle than an apple pie?

Can he throw fists with Robo on the frontline?

Or will he be forever lost in the sands of time?

CHORUS

Criminal Uppercut! Ruffian Kick!

Cheap Shot Stone! Dagger tricks!

Final Destruction! Dead End Irony!

Still want to brag about being fiery?!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

VERSE 3

He’s the future and evil beasts are history

He’ll turn this hell into a bigger misery

Dragons, monsters, and the living fireball

He’ll burst into a rage and slaughter them all

He can throw kicks with the cute cavewoman

Save Jessica again and call her puddin’

Save the frog knight from Magus’s blight

You want a battle? Here’s a Dixie dogfight!

CHORUS

Criminal Uppercut! Ruffian Kick!

Cheap Shot Stone! Dagger tricks!

Final Destruction! Dead End Irony!

Still want to brag about being fiery?!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

Cody Trigger! Chrono Travers!

We Steal Tears

VERSE 1

Death! Death! Double, double, death!

We’re addicted to this shit like crystal meth

Tears! Tears! Triple, triple, tears!

We’ve robbed you of all your childhood years

Quit! Quit! Quadruple quitting!

You want your tears back? Who’re you kidding?

Hack! Slash! Out with all the trash!

Your whole world reduced to a pile of ash

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

VERSE 2

Love! Love! You can’t get enough!

Breaking through the metal armor so tough

War! War! You’re begging for more!

Get your ass in battle and give me some gore

Experience points! Your currency of choice!

Let me hear some motherfucking noise

Lightning! Fire! Sorcerers for hire!

The final battle is getting down to the wire

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

BRIDGE

It’s nothing personal, it’s only business

This is what we do with creative vision

Sell you a story of friendship and family

And a hint of magic, it’s your final fantasy

VERSE 3

Buy it fast! Supplies won’t last!

Rain down on your enemies with a fiery blast

Save the girl! Save the world!

Enough lusty drama to make your toes curl

Ride the golden bird! Spread the word!

Fly the airship through a world so absurd

We’re not responsible for your broken heart!

Or the inability to get that shit to restart

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

Loretta

NAME: Loretta

AGE: 33

OCCUPATION: Professional Wrestler

CANON: WWF Smackdown 2: Know Your Role

Technically, this seven-foot tall Amazon doesn’t belong to me. When I was a teenager living in Chehalis, Washington, my brother James, our friend Nathan, and I played a lot of videogames. WWF Smackdown 2 for the Play Station just so happened to have a create your own character mode.

And boy, did the three of us make a lot of characters. My most noteworthy character was a seven-foot version of Guile from Street Fighter II. Nathan’s character was a soldier slash hippie named Me (and yes, Nathan took full advantage of the jokes that came with that name). James had a seven-foot diva named Loretta, who happens to be the subject of this journal.

Guile can’t be an unemployed character because he’s a staple of the Street Fighter franchise and using him would result in a legal shit storm I’m not prepared for. I can’t get a hold of Nathan these days since he phased out of our lives in late 2002, so I don’t even know if I have permission to use Me in a story (save your jokes, people).

I have no qualms, however, about adding Loretta to my roster since my brother James doesn’t have aspirations of being an author nor does he take wrestling seriously anyways. If I stole Loretta out from under his nose, he’d be so oblivious to it that he wouldn’t even care if he found out. If he does care, I’m happy to give her back.

Loretta wasn’t just a big chick in a long skirt, high heels, a sports bra, and sunglasses. Being big isn’t everything. Being skillful is what matters most in professional wrestling. Loretta was part of the same videogame that had Chyna on its roster. Remember Chyna from the Attitude Era of WWE? She was fucking huge. She wrestled men and looked good doing it, which is why Chyna was the only woman to have held the WWE Intercontinental Championship. Loretta makes this woman look like El Torito in the ring. She could crush Chyna underneath her high heels and scrape her off like chewed bubblegum.

In addition to being a badass in the ring, Loretta was also slated by James and Nathan to be the storyline lover of Guile, who as I said earlier was a seven-foot version of his Street Fighter self. At first I didn’t agree with that since I had a shallow bias against overly tall women back then. But the more I think about it, the more I think Guile and Loretta should tie the knot and make seven-foot babies.

You know what’s even scarier than a seven-foot baby? A seven foot baby who was made taller and heavier by a pituitary disorder. If The Big Show and The Great Khali were a part of this videogame, they’d be insects among this world of giants. It wouldn’t be a WWE arena anymore. It’d be an ant farm. What if Daniel Bryan and Rey Mysterio were a part of this game? Guile and Loretta’s children would need a microscope just to compete against them!

Several Women’s Championship matches and beauty contests later, the videogame disc for WWF Smackdown 2 was scratched and broken from overuse. It was a fun game to play, but with a broken game disc, a sold Play Station, and a lost memory card, Loretta’s adventures in the digital world are over. Which is why I’d like to bring this giantess back to the digital world for a round of literary action.

The way I see it, Loretta’s character, should I decide to use her, can play out two ways and both of them have to do with her height advantage. Either she will be an unlikely hero who gets picked on for her size or she will be a villain who crushes villagers underneath her stilettos while breathing fire on them. Both alignments are believable for a woman like this. After all, being seven feet tall is not a guarantee for a happy or beautiful life.

Would you believe it if I told you The World’s Strongest Man and WWE legend Mark Henry was bullied as a teenager? He may have been big and strong, but he was still flawed in the eyes of everyone around him, especially those who called him names. Bottom line: if Loretta ever makes it into one of my stories, she won’t be winning a Most Overrated award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter anytime soon.

Believability in Nonfiction

Currently sitting on my “to-read” shelf is “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey. I haven’t even started it yet and already it intrigues me, mainly because of the media shit-storm that Mr. Frey had to endure due to allegations of his nonfiction work being a sham. Whether or not this is true is irrelevant to me. You know why? Because I don’t give a shit if a story is real or true, as long as it’s entertaining. If you want to know how ridiculous this media circus is, then know this. Whenever any nonfiction book gets published, there are actually “detectives” out there who fact check every little part of the story. Right down to the last detail. If you had chicken fried steak for lunch one day and wrote down that you had a double bacon cheeseburger instead, prepare to be crucified. They can be that extreme sometimes. I think to myself, “Hey, Dick Tracy, shut the fuck up, will you? You’re full of more shit than the author you’re persecuting! Your breath is so bad, I don’t know if you need a breath mint or toilet paper!” Granted, the book is placed in nonfiction for a reason, but I’m not exactly getting my underwear in a knot over it and either should Dick Tracy. If on the other hand we’re talking about things like slander and libel, then I could actually see the other side of this argument a lot clearer. I will admit that most libel cases are complete bullshit since people will sue over someone expressing a negative opinion about them. But if it’s legitimate libel, then that means the negativity was played as a fact and the victim’s life could actually be ruined as a result of that. In which case, go ahead and sue the motherfucker for all he’s worth. But don’t give me this speech about how a nonfiction book has the potential to be a bunch of hallow lies. It’s like people who say they hate professional wrestling because it’s fake. You know what I say to those people? “Oh yeah? Well, Harry Potter’s fake and I don’t hear you crying about that!” Every time I have this conversation with my mother, she seems somewhat upset that Harry Potter is not real. That’s some serious devotion right there, though I don’t know if it’s aimed at Harry Potter being real or pro-wrestling being fake. The lesson of the day? Stop caring if a piece of literature really happened or not. It doesn’t fucking matter. If you read the book and liked it, isn’t that all that counts in the end? Now if it was a newspaper or a textbook that was considered fiction, then I’d actually have the energy to worry about it. But until then, just read your novel and enjoy it!

　

***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You can’t believe everything you read on the internet. Otherwise, I’d be a Nigerian millionaire by now.”

-Kevin Butler advertising the Playstation 3-

"Oink" by Matt Whyman

If you thought big ol’ piggy pies were cute and cuddly, try having mini-pigs! Little fun size babies you can hold in the palm of your hand! Actually, as author Matt Whyman will tell you, his two latest runts, Butch and Roxy, are literally and figuratively a handful. Matt already has four children, a wife, a cat, some chickens, and a puppy-duppy. What the hell, why not throw two little oinker babies into the mix? Of all the animals Matt Whyman has, including the humans, Butch and Roxy were easily the rowdiest of the bunch and therefore gave him the most fits. Want to know all the things mini-oinkers are capable of? How about leaving a warm yellow puddle of piss over Matt’s feet while he’s trying to write children’s stories? Or maybe they can chew on the controller and wires for his Playstation One. Or if you really want a reason to get the blood boiling, how about ripping up the neighbor’s yard during an attempted robbery? The thing is, the piggy pies actually did more damage than the actual burglars. And the neighbor? He’s never in a good mood, so one could only imagine the kind of trouble Matt would be in once he came home. Despite all of these incidents that would normally give Matt Whyman a heart attack, he goes through a progression throughout the memoir where he learns to enjoy the controlled chaos and that all members of his family keep the unit together. In other words, “Oink” is every bit as heartwarming as it is silly and giggly. It actually reads like a novel and follows the formula very well despite the fact that it’s clearly nonfiction. When you read through it, you have no reason to believe that his storybook ending could be anything but nonfiction. He’s not just a celebrity who writes one book about his life with the help of a ghostwriter. Matt Whyman is a veteran author. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he puts pen to paper. He controls the pace, he writes in a giggly tone, and he’s got a great vocabulary. If those three things aren’t enough reason to buy this book, then at least buy it for the cute and cuddly mini-oinkers! AWW!!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Sir, I don’t think ‘piss like a dog’ is a real expression. It’s ‘piss like a racehorse‘. How exactly do you piss like a dog? Do you lift one leg and do it over a fire hydrant?”

-Brad Loekle-