Final Fantasy IV and Stupidity

When people ask me about my favorite videogames, Final Fantasy IV is somewhere in that Mt. Rushmore...of more than four heads. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s got magic, science fiction, creepy puppets, and…unfortunately, it also has stupid characters. Cecil has to travel the world to protect the elemental crystals from Golbez. But every time Cecil and his friends touch one, Golbez is right there to take it from them, almost like the protagonists are just leading him to the crystals. There’s even one instance where Cecil had to exchange a crystal for his girlfriend Rosa. He gives Golbez the crystal and, surprise, surprise, Golbez reneges on the deal and tries to kill him. And then there’s the dragon knight Kain, who is supposed to be one of Cecil’s allies, but he keeps getting brainwashed by Golbez…over and over again! And what does Cecil do? Welcomes Kain back into the party every single fucking time the brainwashing wears off. Tellah, an old mage with powerful magic, has to sacrifice his own life to cast Meteor on Golbez, which doesn’t kill him, but forces him to relinquish control of Kain…for a little while! And by the way, Golbez is no better. He’s an all-powerful wizard knight who could kill everyone and everything in his path with just his magic alone. There’s even a time when he leaves Cecil and crew laying on the ground…and doesn’t kill them! If Golbez is that powerful, what the fuck does he need elemental crystals for? He could just lightning bolt the world out of orbit if he wanted to! Zip-zap, done! End of story! I’m not saying I’ve never had stupid characters before, but holy shit, they’re not THAT dumb. Now that I’m looking at Final Fantasy IV through a critical lens and not a nostalgic one, where does that rank it on the Mt. Rushmore of my favorite videogames? Hmm…

"Preacher, Vol. 5: Dixie Fried" by Garth Ennis

BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 5: Dixie Fried

AUTHOR: Garth Ennis

YEAR: 1998

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Horror

GRADE: Pass

Reverend Jesse Custer, Tulip, and Cassidy venture down to New Orleans to seek help from a voodoo priest. Jesse wants to access the supernatural power within him in an attempt to find God and make him pay for turning the world into a bloody mess. It just so happened to slip Cassidy’s mind that a den of vampires want revenge on him for what the Irishman did to their master several years ago. Graphic violence is the name of the game for these characters and anybody would be lucky to make it out of this story alive, let alone without any gushing injuries.

As someone who never hits on women, I enjoyed the subplot where Cassidy drunkenly confesses his love for Tulip despite the fact that she’s loyal to Jesse instead. Alcohol or not, it paints Cassidy as a shady pervert who could be easily ousted to Jesse for what he did. The idea that this is even a secret is enough to make me want to read more. You know sooner or later the secret might come out. When it does, a whole powder keg of emotions will destroy the otherwise solid friendship between Cassidy and Jesse. Does the secret actually come out in this volume or will it be saved for a later issue? Maybe. Maybe not. I guess you’ll never know, because I don’t give spoilers beyond the basic synopsis.

Another thing I like about this issue of Preacher is the wisecracking dialogue peppered throughout. Yes, it’s raunchy and vulgar, but the author can write the dialogue without coming off as a teenager trying to be edgy. I would advise my writer friends not to try and duplicate what Garth Ennis has written. Coming from his pen, the dialogue is gritty and rough. Coming from anybody less experienced, it sounds sloppy and awkward. I don’t want to give away any of the dialogue in this review lest I break the PG barrier. Yep. It’s that dirty…and I love it!

And of course, where would the Preacher series be without the delicious violence to go with all of this nasty dialogue? Decapitations, mutilations, gunshot wounds, sex-themed attacks, and vampires burning in the sunlight: what lovely guilty pleasures! But the violence isn’t superficial at all. There’s a deeper plot beneath it all and none of that gets lost in the shuffle. We’re talking about a minister on a revenge mission against God himself. Of course there’s going to be some wild and wacky violence. Of course there’s going to be some three-dimensional storytelling. If all you wanted was violence alone, you could just watch a UFC pay-per-view. Word of advice, Dana White: don’t allow Jesse Custer on any one of your cards. While we’re at it, let’s keep Cassidy and Tulip away from the cage as well.

The fifth volume of Preacher is a satisfying read that makes me want to finish the series. I must know what happens with Cassidy’s secret. I must enjoy more crass language and violence. I must see what happens when Jesse finally confronts God for a battle of epic proportions. A passing grade will go to this exciting graphic novel!

No Closer Than a Stranger

VERSE 1

You seem to know everything about me

Maybe that’s why you choose to doubt me

No closer than a stranger, all about danger

Taking faraway shots like a sniping ranger

Do your homework, or better yet ask me

How long my life and career are lasting

I call the shots and carve my own path

It’s not rocket science or three-D math

VERSE 2

You seem to know what it is you want

Your loving kisses are more like a chomp

No closer than a stranger, being the angel

Of hell or heaven, both can prove fatal

A seductress so tempting and sweet

Sees me as nothing but hellhound meat

I’ve seen it all before, not begging anymore

For any pretty face who’s rotten to the core

BRIDGE

Money, get back, I’m alright, Jack

Stop spending everything on crack

Money, so they say, is the root of evil

Buying the minds of average people

No closer than a stranger on the streets

Or a dead body buried beneath my feet

Or a priest or politician on television

I refuse to join your corporate religion

VERSE 3

All you had to do was care about me

Not live your life on your dirty knees

No closer than a stranger, yet here you are

Thinking you can set my highest bars

This is why I don’t jump in headfirst

A cracked open skull is the fucking worst

Just be there to catch me when I fall

Then I will tear down my Floydian wall

FINAL LINES

No closer than a stranger, I see your anger

No closer than a stranger, my pain you savor

No closer than a villain, no closer than a punk

You’re no prophet of rage or renegade of funk

It's a Natural Function

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Paula Bryan, a loving grandmother, a friend of the community, and a mentor to the most vulnerable members of our society. She passed away this past Saturday night due to natural causes at the age of ninety-one years young. She is survived by her children and grandchildren and remembered by all of the lives she has touched. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, earth to earth, and…”

PTHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The sunshine-filled graveyard was tainted with the odor of a digested Philly cheese steak sandwich eaten by the heaviest member of this funeral procession, Chris Antonio. Despite the suppressed laughter and wicked stares of the black-clad funeral attendees, he threw his hands up defensively and said, “That’ll send some tremors through here.”

The red robed priest Garth Roy snapped his bible shut, took the glasses off of his bald head, and snarled at Chris, “Do you mind? We’re trying to have a funeral and here you are just blasting away! Control yourself!”

“Sorry,” said Chris as he ashamedly tucked his chin with the other attendees.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,” said Reverend Roy. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, earth to earth, and…”

Another nuclear blast was exhumed from Chris’s butt cheeks and the family and friends of Mrs. Bryan coughed, hacked, wheezed, and held their noses at the stench. Chris’s cheeks were redder than the roses on the casket.

“What do you have to say for yourself, you little twit?!” fired Garth.

“Sorry again. You should probably get some new roses for the casket, they’re going to die within seconds,” joked Chris, which earned him some not-so-suppressed laughter from the younger members of the service.

“Enough!” shouted Garth while throwing down his bible. His authoritative shriek was enough to kill the laughter and command his due attention. “We’re trying to bury this poor woman and your fat ass is ruining the entire ceremony! If you’re that gassy, there are restrooms right over there!” he said while pointing to said destination with his arthritis-pained finger.

“Ruining?” said Chris with his hands on the wide hips of his black slacks and gray suit jacket. “Ruining, my ass! Actually, that’s probably not the right verbiage I want to use.” The laughter continued much to the teeth-gritting chagrin of Reverend Garth Roy. “But seriously, is that really all you want from us? To cry all day long? Let’s be honest, Reverend: you can spell funeral without F-U-N.”

“Fun?! You think this is fun?! A woman just died last Saturday and all you can think about is your disgusting colon?!” bellowed Garth with his arms flailing. “The video arcade is down the street from here! If you want to have fun and act like a damned child, go over there! We’re here to celebrate Paula Bryan’s life and we’re not going to have you screw everything up!”

“But see, that’s the thing, Reverend Roy: we are celebrating Mrs. Bryan’s life by having a good laugh at this,” said Chris. “You want to know how she became such a well-known mentor to people like me? By putting smiles on our faces, that’s how. She didn’t take life too seriously. She enjoyed a good fart joke every now and then. Speaking of which…” With that, Chris Antonio lifted his right leg and let out another thunderstorm of flatulence, which earned an equal amount of laughter and jeers. He mockingly waved his hand over his nose and said, “Phew! This place smells like we’re standing over a dead body, am I right? Hell, we might as well move this ceremony to the bus station bathroom. It’d smell better, that’s for sure.”

The laughter continued except with Reverend Garth Roy, who picked his bible back up off the ground and slowly crept towards Chris before whacking him over the head with it. The overweight gas machine rubbed the top of his skull and said, “Ow, what did you do that for?!”

“If Paula Bryan were alive today, she would strangle you with her husband’s belt, you sick bastard!” whispered Garth with raspy rage. “She’s looking down at all of us from heaven with disgust!” The laughter died more sorrowfully than Paula Bryan. Everybody’s tear-stained eyes were locked onto their church leader as he gave his hellfire oratory. “She won’t be looking down on you anymore, Chris, because one of these days, you’re going to burn in the ninth circle of hell for turning this procession into a circus! You’re a disgrace to the lord’s name and you’re a disappointment to the memory of Paula Bryan! Get out! Take your feces-stained underwear somewhere else! Go on! Move it!”

Chris’s pudgy face became even more saggy with his dour frown. He tucked his chin and turned around to try and walk away. He stopped after only a few feet and held his chest in pain. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Neither do any of us, Mr. Antonio! We’re at a funeral!” shouted Garth. “Be on your way! Take your farty-party over to the local middle school!” The attendees chuckled at the term “farty-party” before being silenced yet again with, “I’m serious!” With all soaked eyes on him, Garth commanded, “If anybody else thinks this whole thing is a joke, feel free to take a walk with Mr. Antonio! You can stand at his side, but try not to stand behind him!” The attendees chuckled to where Garth threw his bible on the ground yet again and screamed through gritted teeth.

In the midst of this “farty-party”, Chris dropped down to both knees and breathed heavily while clutching his chest. “Oh god, oh dear god,” he said while attendees were gathered around trying to help him to his feet.

“You see what you’ve done, Chris?!” belted Garth. “The good lord is striking you down and it’s too late for atonement! How do those hellfire flames feel, Chris?! I said, how do they feel?!”

With the attendees’ arms locked around his elbows, Chris managed to make it to his feet, but not without spaghetti legs and a dazed psyche. “Oh no, not now. No, no, no! Please forgive me, Paula. I love you.” But instead of falling down on his face and meeting the devil, he let out another cloud of nauseating diesel fumes. The funeral goers laughed once again.

“Goddamn it!” shouted Garth as he jumped up and down stomping the grass.

“I think the good Reverend over there just used the lord’s name in vain,” said Chris with a hearty smile. “I don’t think he should be directing this funeral anymore. Do you guys feel the same way?”

While the friends and family of Mrs. Bryan cheered, Reverend Roy held his nose and mouth under his robe and coughed violently. In his wild attempt at sucking down fresh air, he knocked the casket over and Paula’s body rolled out onto the grass. The heavy laughter turned to gasping shock as everybody realized what Garth just did, albeit accidentally.

Holding his hands up defensively, Garth said, “I didn’t mean to. I’ll put her back inside, no problem.”

The onlookers, Chris included, watched in horror as Garth desperately tried to put pieces of Paula’s withered body back inside the casket. His face still scrunched up a the vile odor of Chris’s farts. Now the scent of an old lady’s corpse invaded his nostrils like a new form of nasal rape. He coughed and wheezed once more, but this time fell into the six foot hole in which Paula was supposed to be buried in.

Tears welled up in Garth’s eyes, even more so than when the funeral began and this was all about death and depression. Chris and the onlookers gazed down at him while the pudgy protégé said, “Asses to asses, dust to dust, may you rest in feces, I mean, pieces, I mean peace, damn it, peace!”

“I give up! I fucking give up!” yelled Garth as he punched and kicked the dirt beneath him.

Above the grave, Chris and the others laughed and hugged each other. This time, their smiles remained permanent. If there really was such thing as smiling down from heaven, Paula Bryan was doing it with her most beautiful expression. From beyond the grave, she brought happiness and love to those who needed it the most. “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” That was her favorite Dr. Seuss quote and for good reason.

Exile

“Sing a song, Night Wolf, sing a song, mommy’s boy!” sang Maria Kevin in an off-key voice while she strummed her guitar. Sure enough, the spirit wolf glowing with blue energy howled at the full moon like the happy hound dog he was. The ghostly beast was rewarded with chin scratches and ear rubs from her elfish bard mommy. “Good boy, Night Wolf. Good, good puppy boy.”

The two of them sat outside a rickety old church on the grassy field together while the evening’s wind caressed them with cool air. Such was a pleasant evening for rest and relaxation, considering the long journey they had together playing concerts. Maria’s pointy red hat, black halter top, brown shorts, and brown leather boots gave her the appearance of a folk rock goddess. But to Night Wolf, she was still the down-to-earth spirit animal mother he snuggled up to every night.

“A lot of good memories come from this church, Night Wolf,” said Maria in a pleasant whispery voice. “This was where I first learned to play the guitar and sing to my heart’s content. There wasn’t a single elf in our village who didn’t come to this church every time they wanted some spiritual music. It makes me wonder what happened to this place that it got so…empty and depressing.” Those last words were punctuated with a small frown and a slight whimper from Night Wolf. The spirit animal tucked his head on Maria’s lap and earned himself more pettings behind the ears.

And then Night Wolf’s ears perked up as he lifted his head and barked rapidly at something going on in the church. “What is it, boy? What’s going on?” Maria asked. Night Wolf blitzed inside the church barking and howling while the elf bard struggled to keep up. The inside of the church looked as dilapidated and depressing as the outside. Stained glass windows were shattered, wooden beams splintered and peeled, the carpeted floor was soaked in animal urine and rainwater, and the roof had a hole through it big enough to fit a family of bears through.

Maria’s frowning sorrow intensified when she saw Night Wolf scraping at the basement door and howling in a pathetic, childish dog voice. She didn’t like to see him in such misery, but the purple energy glow behind the door was too much to ignore. The bard trotted down the stairs to the basement door and slowly opened it after backing Night Wolf away with her slender arm.

The source of the purple glow was a mere mortal human with an aura around his pale-skinned body. With dark robes to contrast his disturbingly white skin, he pointed his fingers and shot purple lighting into what appeared to be a bubbling cauldron of some kind. Maria’s eyes widened as the mysterious liquid boiled and splashed while Night Wolf crouched on the floor and whimpered again. The elf covered her ears while the spirit dog yelped after a gunshot-like blast erupted from the cauldron and gray smoke filled the air.

“Damn it!” the elderly wizard yelled. “This is ridiculous! How many times do I have to…” The old man turned around to reveal his baldheaded, wrinkly face to his new intruders and it became clear to Maria Kevin who this man really was. “What are you doing down here, my child? I haven’t seen that face in such a long time. You’re all grown up.”

“Reverend Dominick…how long have you been dwelling in this basement?” asked a dumbfounded Maria.

“Please, call me Stigma. And as far as your question goes…I’ve been down here for much too long,” sighed the priest as he sat down on a wooden stool holding his head in his hands. “What am I going to do, Miss Kevin? I’ve tried so hard to concoct this spell, but nothing seems to work. I can’t find the answers I’m looking for. I’m just…I’m a wreck, my dear.”

Night Wolf trotted over to Stigma Dominick whining and pouting. “I know, my fluffy friend,” said the priest. “Nothing about this is fair.” He treated the large animal to a scratch behind the ears and a back rub, to which Night Wolf panted and smiled with his tongue hanging out.

“You can’t keep torturing yourself like this, Stigma,” said Maria. “You have to let go eventually. Your father’s death wasn’t your fault and never will be. Time heals all wounds, but time isn’t going to be kind to your father if you go through with this necromancy. You’re already older than he was when the accident occurred.”

“I know, Maria, trust me, I know,” said Stigma as he languidly continued petting Night Wolf. “It’s just that…I never got to say goodbye to him. I never told him I was sorry. In my family, showing feelings was never allowed. I’ve kept it all on the inside for…for…” He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tears poured from the old man’s eyes while Night Wolf whined and licked his salty face. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Maria placed a tender hand on Stigma’s shoulder and said, “You don’t need to apologize to me. But if you really wanted to make things up to me, you’ll leave this…lab behind and learn to live your life again.”

Night Wolf rested his head on Stigma’s lap while the necromancer said, “I wish it was that easy, Miss Kevin. But if I leave this church and venture back into the city, they’ll have me locked up in an even more disgusting place than this broken down church. They blame me for everything, Maria, and I tend to agree with them.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” said Maria while stroking the reverend’s shoulders. “You never really bothered to ask their opinions, did you? Do you know for sure that they believe it’s an accident?”

Stigma swatted Maria’s arm away and snapped, “I don’t know, Miss Kevin, do you think I should take a poll? Do you think it’s as easy as waltzing back to the village after all of these years? Time never healed my wounds and it won’t heal theirs either! My father was a trusted leader in our community! People loved him and came to him for help! Who are they going to turn to now that it’s over?! They won’t let bygones by bygones, Maria. They’ll have my head on a silver platter!”

Stigma’s diatribe caused Night Wolf to yelp and back up a few paces before laying down and covering his face with his paws. Maria’s fists balled up and her face contorted into stern anger. “If you really feel guilty about what you’ve supposedly done, then you’ll take whatever punishment comes your way. Running away and trying to bring your dad back from the dead isn’t going to help one bit. For all you know, this spell you’re trying to concoct could bring him back as a zombie abomination. I’m sure that’ll look great in the family album!”

The necromancer grabbed Maria tightly by the shoulders and, with Night Wolf barking in the background, screamed, “And what exactly am I running away from?! Huh?! I’d rather be stuck down here for another twenty years than in some shit hole where the guards talk like they’re the fucking overseer! At least here I can find some closure! If your idea of closure is rotting in a cell with judgmental assholes watching over me, then you can take your morals and go to hell!” Stigma threw Maria to the floor and put minor dents in her guitar. Night Wolf rushed over and licked his master’s face before the necromancer shouted, “Get out! Leave me to my research!”

With one hand in her tear-stained face and the other holding the guitar, Maria stood up and ran up the basement steps with Night Wolf whining and chasing after her. The two of them bolted out of the church before the elf bard tripped on a rock and spent the next few minutes crying on her knees. Night Wolf licked the saltiness from her face while the bard wrapped her arms around her spirit animal. “This isn’t over, Stigma. ...This isn’t over by a long shot!” she shouted.

She gazed angrily into Night Wolf’s eyes and whispered, “Get him, boy. Sick ‘em!” The dog barked fiercely and stormed back into the church while Maria stood up and waited outside. She wiped the tears from her eyes while listening to Night Wolf snarl and chew at human flesh.

“Ouch! What the hell are you doing, you stupid dog?! Leave me alone! Stop it!” shouted Stigma from inside the church. Maria yanked the strings from her guitar and waited with her arms folded. Sure enough, Stigma came running and yelping outside with Night Wolf hot on his tail. His robes were ripped and his skin was pierced, but he was otherwise okay.

Maria caught Stigma in a headlock and wrestled him to the ground before switching behind and tying the necromancer’s hands with the busted guitar strings. “Shut up!” she snapped. The harsh tone immediately put an end to Stigma’s whining and yelping. “You’re coming with me to the village whether you want to or not! Enough of this guilty garbage! Instead of saying sorry to your dear old daddy, you’re going to say it to people who won’t end up like fucking zombies! Come on, on your feet!”

The elf bard headlocked Stigma once again and dragged him to his feet before hauling him off to the village. The necromancer pleaded and protested, but Night Wolf nipped his heels every time the whining got too intense. Maria also squeezed harder.

The trek to the village wasn’t long enough to warrant exhaustion from anybody in this group of three, although when Maria released the headlock and cut the guitar strings, Stigma clutched his chest and panted due to how hard the elf squeezed. His eyes bulged out of their sockets when he realized where he was. This forest village was complete with stone houses, tree houses, and many, many elven warriors. The fruit was more abundant than Stigma remembered it. The vegetables looked delicious enough to garner a drooling response. Would it be the last time he was privileged to eat such beautiful food?

It seemed to be that way when a group of leather-armored elves carrying poleaxes approached him with stern looks on their faces. The warriors, Maria, and Night Wolf all circled him with greedy, judgmental eyes. The captain of this squadron said in a flat tone, “How could you, Reverend? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Stigma Dominick huddled into himself and shook with nervousness. “I’m sorry…I really am…”

“You should be sorry,” said the elf captain. “You should be sorry for torturing yourself for so long.” Stigma lifted his head with a surprised look on his face. “We’ve missed you, dear friend. I’m sure you’ve missed being in the sunlight. Look at you, you’re a mess! We don’t blame you for what happened to your father. We blame you for abandoning us in our time of need. But now you’re safe with us again, necromancer.”

Stigma’s eyes were drowning in tears once again as the circle of elves closed in on him and gave him a much-needed group hug. Night Wolf pawed at his leg and howled at the full moon. Maria Kevin stroked Stigma’s bald scalp and said, “You’re great at giving sermons, but you’re terrible at listening.”

“I’m sorry, Maria. I’m sorry for everything…”

Vampire Empire

Michael Finn could feel his flesh getting hotter with every passing second. All he wanted was some goddamn shelter from the sunlight. He dashed through the forest at a frenetic pace, jumping over logs and slashing thick foliage out of his way with his razor-sharp claws. A small cave, a hollow log, some dense trees, any one of those things would have been nice to hide out in until daylight passed. His mind raced as fast as his powerful legs, so much so that he almost passed by his one shot at shelter.

He couldn’t see it well in the dim light, but it was a stone building with large double doors and stained glass windows. Without thinking clearly, Michael burst through the double doors with his shoulder and shut them behind him. In the darkness of the church, he was safe. He knelt down and breathed huge sighs of relief while allowing the sweat on his skin to dry up. He stripped off his black leather jacket and laid back first against the cold stones floor. It felt so good against his pale skin. Even his sweaty hair felt like heaven against the cool stones.

Several flames burst to life and startled Michael enough to leap to his feet in a single bound. Those flames were merely there to light the torches mounted on the side walls. Not only did those torches reveal the wooden pews on either side, but also the devilish and demonic artwork in the stained glass windows. There were ogres chewing off the heads of goats, devils sodomizing angels with their tridents, and hooded snakes devouring the insides of diseased rats, to name a few.

“Where the hell am I?” asked Michael as he looked around with a mixture of confusion and fear.

“That depends on what you’re looking for, my friend,” said a shadowy figure at the podium. He slowly ventured into the light and revealed himself to be a horseshoe-pattern and pony-tail haired priest in black and red robes. He sported a creepy grin and kept his fingers together in a triangle shape. “Welcome to the Church of Satan. My name is Reverend Paul Singer. Technically, the sermon doesn’t start for another hour, but you’re welcome to stay here nonetheless.”

“Um…thanks?” said Michael while shrugging his shoulders.

Paul’s smile widened enough to show his demented dental work as she slowly made his way toward Michael and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Those are some lovely fangs, my friend,” the devil worshiper said. “I’d kill for a set of those. You must be a creature of the night. Your kind is always welcome in my house of worship.”

“Uh, listen, I’ve got to get going now…”

“Nonsense! Stay with me for a few hours! We can talk all about the dark magic that surrounds us all. We can talk about your new role in the Church of Satan. Vampires are especially important to our cause,” said Paul. He wrapped his arm around Michael’s shoulder and led the shaking nerve-wreck to the darker end of the church.

The vampire reluctantly sat down at the front-most pew and gazed around at the artwork in the stained glass windows one last time. “Lovely place you’ve got here, Reverend,” he said both sarcastically and fearfully.

“Thank you for the kind words. This church has been in my family for many generations. I’m surprised it’s holding up as well as it is,” said Paul. He sat down next to Michael with a bottle of red wine in his hands. The demonic priest wrapped his arm around the vampire once more and took a gigantic swig from the bottle. “Mmmm, that’s good shit!”

Reverend Singer looked almost lovingly into Michael Finn’s eyes, making the vampire quiver even harder. Paul said, “It’s no accident that you’ve decided to use my humble church as a place to stay away from the sunlight. Satan brought you into my arms, so I’m going to make sure you’re safe today. But there’s only one thing I ask of you.” Paul leaned closer to Michael and Michael leaned backwards. “Make me into one of your own. I wish to be a creature of the night as well. With that kind of power, I can have total influence over the world. Satan’s way is the only way. What better way to prove my prophecy than with a good set of vampire fangs?”

Michael could feel that evil grin on Paul’s face and it was ripping at his soul like a pack of hellhounds on a wounded angel. The vampire brushed his arms off and jumped away from him. “Listen, man,” he said. “Aside from the fact that you’re creeping me the fuck out right now, I really can’t help you become a vampire. There’s nothing glorious about being one of us. Hiding from sunlight, constantly killing people for fresh blood, staying young while all of your friends get old and die? You’re not going to have influence over your congregation. You’re going to be lonely, just like me. Is that what you really want?”

Paul sighed, stood up, and said, “I suppose not. Maybe there’s something about my teachings that I overlooked. Maybe that’s the answer I needed to hear the most. I was so greedy for power that I…” The Reverend kissed Michael on the mouth and spit a poisonous tablet down his throat in the process.

Aside from reaching the height of his fear, Michael clutched his throat and coughed incessantly. Paul pulled out a hammer and silver stake from his robes and nailed both of the vampire’s hands to the wooden pew. Blood flowed from his hands like a raging river. The combination of coughing and screaming brought up red bile from Michael’s throat as he was now spitting chunks on the floor. Once he was done gurgling his life juices, he breathed in a raspy tone and looked down on the stone floor, purposefully avoiding eye contact with his creepy captor.

Paul grabbed Michael by the hair and lifted his head up while glaring at him with the most sinister, angry smile. With gritted teeth, he said, “Now you listen, you little shit! I offered you a place to stay out of the sunlight, so you’re going to give me payment whether you want to or not! What shall I do to you next, little boy?! Shall I sacrifice you?! Shall I throw you out into the sunlight?! Or maybe…”

Paul retried a ball gag from his robes and shoved it in Michael’s mouth. The vampire let out a muffled cry as the priest tightly strapped the sex toy around his head. Michael’s weakness from the poison and bloody pain from his nailed hands left him in a doubled over position over the pew. The sinister minister’s smile was even wider and creepier than before with his jaw fully clamped.

Still with gritted teeth, he said, “You’re going to give me your vampire powers whether you want to or not!” Paul reached around for Michael’s belt and unloosened it so that he could pull his pants down and expose his posterior. Paul then clutched at his own robe and ripped it in half to reveal a hairy, muscled body underneath only covered by leopard print underwear. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of your sweet little ass!”

With that much fear built up in his system, Michael’s short burst of adrenaline overrode the poison in his blood as he yanked on his hands to try and free them. The instant Paul put his hands on the vampire’s butt, Mr. Finn threw a back kick and nailed the priest in his testicles. Paul let out a screech of pain and doubled over before plopping to the stone ground below.

Michael used his remaining adrenaline to tug at his hands once again. The more he struggled, the more he bled. He even fought back the urge to vomit with the orange ball in his mouth. He couldn’t keep it down any longer. With one powerful rip, he pulled his hands free from the silver stake and chewed through the ball with his powerful fangs. It was at that moment that the poisonous vomit flowed from his mouth and the excessive blood drooled from his broken hands.

Michael Finn exhaustedly dropped to the floor, the coldness felt good on his sweaty, bloody skin. This place would have made an excellent hotel if it didn’t have a creep running it.

Speak of the devil, pun definitely intended, Paul grabbed the limp vampire by the hair and pulled him up once again. There was no smile this time, only an angry burst of threatening words. “I am sick and fucking tired of your rebellious shit! I should sodomize you on the altar right now! I should crucify you out on the front lawn for all of my worshipers to see! I should set you on fire with these torches! I should…”

Michael used his last burst of energy to bite into Paul’s wrist and drink his blood like a keg of beer. He paid no mind to the Reverend’s agonizing wails. Instead the vampire drank like a desert traveler dying of thirst. The cool coppery blood felt good on his aching throat. His stomach was soothed from the excessive vomiting. His hands began to heal until their wounds were closed over. The orgasmic dinner was over quicker than it started, so both Michael and Paul plopped on the cold stone floor unconscious.

After feeling refreshed from this thirty minute power nap, Paul began to open his bloodshot eyes. His pain was soothed. His wrist wound had healed over. He even pressed his thumb against his teeth to see if he had vampire fangs. They were so sharp that they drew a tiny drop of blood from his thumb.

Paul was laughing like a lunatic as he slowly rose to his feet. He held his hands out Jesus-style and spun around in happiness. He dropped to his knees, still laughing, still wide-eyed, and still grinning like a monster. “It finally happened! Satan will be so proud of me when he sees my new powers! I shall live forever in your grace, fiery one!”

“You want fire? You got it!” said a familiar voice. The shadowy figure opened the front door and stood behind it to protect himself from the glaring sunlight. Paul yelled, “No!” in classic cinematic fashion as the sunlight set him ablaze and reduced his body to a crispy black corpse. He was screaming, shaking, and spinning around during his execution. He wanted to join Satan in hell and now he had his wish.

The door was slammed shut and the church was dark once again. The instigator, Michael Finn, stood over the burned carcass and said, “I told you being a vampire sucked. Church has been cancelled, you sick prick!”

"Cimarronin" by Neal Stephenson

BOOK TITLE: Cimarronin

AUTHOR: Neal Stephenson

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Historical Fiction

GRADE: Pass

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday School

VERSE 1
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget


CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!


VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse


EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!


VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy


EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!