Price Tag

CHORUS

Everything you do has a price tag on it

Unlimited freedom? I don’t care if you want it

You step on my neck, I’ll step on yours

Bootlicking gets you nowhere, you’ll always be poor

 

VERSE 1

Far-right minority, what the fuck gives?

What’s it like to have black skin and white privilege?

Enjoy it while it lasts, it can be taken away

By the same guys who think you’re whole culture is gay

The G-word’s a pejorative in their itty-bitty world

They can’t see a spectrum beyond boy and girl

When you and your family are next on the cross

Try kissing more ass, on the advice of your boss

 

CHORUS

Everything you do has a price tag on it

Unlimited freedom? I don’t care if you want it

You step on my neck, I’ll step on yours

Bootlicking gets you nowhere, you’ll always be poor

 

VERSE 2

You work in construction while they’re plotting your destruction

You crack a bigoted joke and expect an induction

Into the Hall of Fame or the Millionaire’s Club

Trying hard to be a dom, but you’re always a sub

Isolate inside a bubble of your own creation

Thinking it’ll shield you from public damnation

Never mind being late to your own Over Party

You’re late to your own trial, too late to say sorry

 

CHORUS

Everything you do has a price tag on it

Unlimited freedom? I don’t care if you want it

You step on my neck, I’ll step on yours

Bootlicking gets you nowhere, you’ll always be poor

 

VERSE 3

So what if you make a million dollars or more?

You’ll waste it on gold chains, diamond rings, and whores

Oops, I meant you when I said the big W

‘Cause it ain’t sex workers who want to cuddle you

Your favorite rich bitch won’t want to do it either

Even if you call your own minority “useless eaters”

You can throw the Sig Heil at any time of the day

Doesn’t change the fact that you’re wasting away

Yeah, I called it a fact, it don’t care about your feelings

Don’t like your own medicine? Don’t rush the healing

Your parasocial followers are in a marriage of convenience

They’ll leave you when they see that you’re a fraud, not a genius

Two-Sentence Horror Story: "The Gold Standard"

The honeybee thanked Preston for moving it out of harm’s way by stinging his finger and leaving a throbbing welt. After a cussing storm that rivaled most Floridian hurricanes, Preston said you’re welcome by unzipping his jeans and showering the bee with his own brand of golden honey.

AK Spray Is the Only Way

INTRO

I don’t want stress management skills

I want an AK-47

I don’t want to negotiate with my abusers

I want an AK-47

I don’t want to apologize to angry customers

I want an AK-47

Because AK spray is the only way!

 

VERSE 1

You can call me a cosplay revolutionary

You can say I’m no different from a bloody mercenary

You can call me an edgelord visionary

You can call me undesirable and say you’ll never marry

But all I want is justice, a little bit of substance

To go with the speeches of authority’s reaches

Violence is the language of the voiceless

Desperation is the language of the choiceless

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

 

VERSE 2

Childhood trauma killed all my potential

And they’re the ones with the nerve to call me mental

Blame me for my own pain, do it for their own gain

And all I’ve got is, “I’m fine” when I’m asked if I’m okay

Nothing like a smoking barrel to loosen their lips

World’s easiest confessions, descend the iceberg tip

Even they know the lake of fire’s a one-way trip

Scan their boarding passes, they’re called bullets in their asses

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

 

BRIDGE

When the senators and reps break all their promises

When the Thin Blue Line takes a million hostages

Logic and reason never permeate their brains

But a flood of bullets will, now clean up all the stains

 

CHORUS

AK spray is the only way

To turn every day into Judgment Day

I can play God while you play them like a fiddle

Here’s a rain of bullets to meet you in the middle

It’s just a fantasy and my words are only words

It’s my very best defense from being called a jailbird

But only privilege and riches will get the benefit of the doubt

The womb’s the way in, electric chair’s the way out

Prison or Death

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

VERSE 1

Hurricane is coming, a storm from within

Beat their ass raw, corpse in the bin

Whether it’s over a one-word insult

Or god’s favorite weapon: a lightning bolt

Revenge is a dish best served bloody rare

Don’t try to live well, just go on a tear

Murder feels good in the heat of the moment

But not in a cell where you’re lonely and hopeless

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

VERSE 2

Froze like a blizzard, the sinners go free

But war flashbacks are all that you see

Four letter words to go with the punches

A mile-high bill to go with the crutches

Raging rapids of red puffy tears

To take away all of your natural years

If you could do things a different way

Would you need a machete to make them pay?

CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

BRIDGE

If passive silence is complicity

Mass homicide is more sickening

Always afraid of making things worse?

Welcome to hell, enjoy your curse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Prison or death, fuck all the rest

Torture at worst, oblivion at best

Freeze or fawn until they’re all gone

Their memories haunt from dusk to dawn

Flight or fight, does might equal right?

In the ICU, who spends the night?

You just can’t win even if you survive

You just can’t live even if you’re alive

A Brief History of Rainbow Ranch

They didn’t have a name for this lonely island, because there was no they to begin with. Not a sign of human life. Not a shred of biodiversity. Not a liter of clean water for miles. It was a perfect place, though a little too perfect, for soulless cowards to dump their unwanted furry friends. Dogs with saggy jowls. Cats with pretty torbie colors and velvety fur. Rabbits with indiscriminate amounts of love to give in such tiny bodies. Rats with all the stigma, yet none of the villainy to justify being abandoned by the heartless. This nameless island was their new home, though it could never feel like home to anyone. If the animals didn’t eat each other in their feral states, they were forever erased from the gene pool, never to be seen, never to be loved by tender hands again. This cruelty went on for years…

Until a pair of king brothers found out what was going on and allowed the information to boil their blood. The Gaines brothers, Harrison and James, got off their sofa thrones and rolled their mobile castle away from their comfortable lands, finding their new home in this desolate strip of earth. They saw firsthand how hopeless these beautiful creatures looked, their ribs visible, their fur matted and torn, the joy in their eyes scrubbed clean from their handsome features. Under the rule of the Gaines brothers, no more would they suffer. With an army of loyal soldiers under the Kingdom’s command, every animal that could be found was rounded up and nurtured back to full health.

The carnivorous creatures were treated to plump sausages and juicy steaks, while the vegetarians were given fresh, crisp lettuce and crunchy carrots. During this mass rehabilitation process, the gardeners of the Gaines Kingdom went to work planting seeds all over the island, giving way to the tallest trees, the softest green grass, the loveliest red and purple flowers, the tastiest vegetables, and enough clean water to sustain the ecosystem. The healing wasn’t an overnight success. Some animals and plants didn’t make it. But those that did lived long and happy lives under the brothers’ care. The nameless island was no longer a death sentence for abandoned pets. It was a paradise not surprisingly renamed to Rainbow Ranch, a heaven on earth to live comfortably with the fastest tail wags and the loudest purrs.

But despite what the new name suggests, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for Harrison Gaines. While everyone seemed to move on with their lives, seeing all that suffering for the first few months took its toll on him. He was the less logical of the two brothers, giving into his rawest emotions and nightmarish insanity. It wasn’t enough that these animals got their revenge by living well. He wanted everlasting revenge on the ones who made them suffer in the first place. But with no names and no faces to place on the heartless former pet owners, the gulf between Harrison’s vengeful goals and his ability to act on them grew wider as his insanity began to take over. That is, until he finally had a plan.

While James Gaines was the fighter of the two, Harrison dabbled in magic, especially of the dark and occult variety. Nobody could possibly tell him where the abusive owners were…except the animals themselves. Behind his brother’s back, he began experimenting on the surviving animals to give them human features. And with these human features, they would learn to speak real words. But when asked about their abusers, the anthropomorphized animals didn’t share the same resentment and anger that Harrison did. They just wanted to live normal lives and use their now human features to build communities instead of tearing other ones down. James ultimately agreed with this notion. Harrison, not so much.

The insanity started to take an even harder toll on him. He’d spend his nights waking up from terrifying visions. He’d have conversations with ghosts who weren’t there. He’d lash out at anybody who disagreed with him. When James had to put his foot down and do something about his brother’s erratic behavior, Harrison fled and his anthropomorphic creations tried to track him down now that some of them had become soldiers and wizards themselves. Harrison’s escape led him to the highest snow-covered mountain in Rainbow Ranch, where he finally met his wizardly match: an elderly gray and white cat named Ozzie the Wise.

Ozzie tried to talk him down, tried to talk some sense into him, but Harrison’s erratic mind wouldn’t allow him to listen to reason. Ozzie was wise indeed, but even his problem-solving skills couldn’t crack the puzzle that was Harrison’s melting brain. The two of them faced off in a battle of magical energy. Harrison appeared to be getting the upper hand until Ozzie finally struck him down with a lightning bolt, causing him to roll down the mountainside and into a snowy grave. His body took days to find underneath all of that snow and Ozzie was cleared of all charges by the remaining king on account of self-defense. Harrison’s tragic tale had finally come to an end.

James couldn’t find it in his heart to bury his brother in an ordinary cemetery, so he expedited the corpse to the funeral home of an old friend, a skeletal necromancer named Razor Ripley. Despite the intimidating name, Ripley had a fondness for the animal kingdom and respect for the dead. Harrison’s body would be well taken care of under his watch and the watch of his non-humanoid Labrador Loki. This would leave James plenty of time to grieve for his fallen brother while his subjects tended to the operations of Rainbow Ranch.

This would seem like an apt place to end the story. The history of Rainbow Ranch had been written and the future seemed brighter than the wave of color in the island’s new name. Harrison would be sorely missed despite his odd behavior and penchant for revenge. He was a brother first and foremost whose heart was always in the right place. But for anyone who dearly missed him…he wouldn’t stay gone forever. It all began with a nice long psychic conversation between the disgraced King Harrison Gaines…and the soon to be anointed Loki the Skull. The phrase, “I’ll rest when I’m dead” can only be valid…if the subject is dead in the first place.

A History of Violence

MOVIE TITLE: A History of Violence

DIRECTOR: David Cronenberg

YEAR: 2005

GENRE: Thriller

RATING: R for violence, language, and sex

GRADE: A

A story about a diner-owner saving his establishment from a robbery would have been thrilling enough on his own. But where exactly did Tom Stall get his fighting skills from? It wasn’t just blind luck. He didn’t take martial arts courses. Maybe he was ex-military, but why would an ex-military guy suddenly have mafia goons calling him Joey when his name is clearly Tom? He’s hiding something, not only from the town that praises his actions, but also his own family. The growing tension between Tom and his family is a focal point of the story’s drama. The more that comes out about him, the more isolated he becomes from the one he loves. I was going to dock this movie a point for a sometimes slow pace, but that slow pace actually helps intensify the drama. Tension needs time to build. In the case of the audience, they’re going to feel all the hate and anger that Tom and his family feels towards the ones who wronged them…right before they implode on each other. If you have a history of violence, the cycle will eventually repeat itself. Building tension and sending anxiety through the audience are this movie’s strong suits.

But of course, you can’t call the movie A History of Violence and not have a good deal of violence in it. Tom Stall’s punches, kicks, and limb breaks are so brutal that they’re satisfying to watch as they happen to everyone who messes with his family. But the cherry on top of the blood-covered sundae came from Jack Stall, Tom’s son, who had been bullied all year at school by a redneck named Bobby and his friends. Jack just absolutely wrecked Bobby and it was so delicious to watch. As a former bullying victim myself, I love watching these kinds of scenes. Of course, Tom isn’t happy with how Jack handled it, because that’s not how his family solves problems…but Tom totally does as he slaps his son for smart-mouthing him. Pot, meet kettle. But that just widens the divide between Tom and his family, so blatant hypocrisy adds to the building tension that the movie does so well.

I won’t spoil the ending for everyone, so I’ll speak as vaguely as possible. By the time all is said and done, we don’t know if the main problem is solved. We don’t know if Jack will face repercussions other than suspension for the pounding he gave Bobby. We don’t know if Edie (Tom’s wife) can carry on with her marriage. We don’t know if Sarah (Tom’s daughter) will stop seeing monsters at night. But most importantly, we don’t know if this cycle of violence will continue or if everything falls apart. Normally, this kind of open-ended storytelling is ideal for producing a sequel, which I wouldn’t be against. But even without a sequel, this is effective storytelling because it leaves the audience with anxiety-inducing questions long after it’s over. They’re free to exercise their imaginations. It’s not even confusion they feel. It’s a genuine interest in seeing the story beyond its ninety-six minutes. By renting space in the audience’s head long after it’s over, A History of Violence truly did its job of telling an effective story.

Everybody played their roles to perfection. The violence was satisfying whenever it happened to the bad guys (Bobby included). The drama was never in a cool state even after those bad guys get their comeuppance. It started off slow, yes, but that’s something I’m willing to forgive since the rest of the movie kicked it into high gear with the action and drama. If you feel like your patience is being tested, keep watching it all the way through, because you’ll get everything you want and more…even if the ending leaves you with more questions than answers. A History of Violence gets five out of five stars.

Where's My Justice?

VERSE 1

I used to believe that karma was real

Until I saw my kitty cat under some guy’s wheel

Driver might be partying with chicks and drugs

While his mortal sin was swept under the rug

They say to just let God do his little thing

Assuming he’s not purchased by the far right-wing

They say the best revenge is living well

But I’d rather bust his gut with a shotgun shell

CHORUS 1

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my mercy?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! The gods curse me!

VERSE 2

Justice is only for those with fat banks

And a trillion dollars worth of army tanks

And brainwashed lawyers who’ll shine their shoes

And broadcast their ass-kissing all over the news

CHORUS 2

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s comeuppance?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! There’s no substance!

BRIDGE

When you try to find justice without a badge

By pulling your own trigger, killing them in a flash

They put you in a cage and say it’s all your fault

Because you couldn’t pick the lock on the money vault

When you write a bad check to the justice man

They take away your house so you can live in a camp

It’s just the way the universe is wired to work

Sorry if you don’t have a way to go berserk

CHORUS 3

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my payback?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! There’s no way back!

American dreams are for those who sleep

Forget counting them, you’re already a sheep

You can wake up an emotional wreck and upset

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Born to Trauma Bond

VERSE 1

All my enemies are fighting with AK-47’s

And all I’ve ever had was a wet toothpick

Might as well raise my tattered white flag

Because anything else would just be useless

We sign the peace treaty at the break of dawn

They get to have all the gold and the silver

All I ever get is some scraps from the table

Asking for more means bringing out the killers

CHORUS 1

Stop telling me to man the fuck up

A thick skin doesn’t mean jack shit

To a kid who was born to trauma bond

Until the day I’m fitted for a casket

VERSE 2

Everyone and their uncle push my boundaries

Until there’s nothing left to knock over

Could fight them off with a bastard sword

Until they leave me punch-drunk, never sober

And when every broken bone is finally healed

I still come out of it looking like the villain

They controlled the narrative from the first word

It’s what they pass on to their budding children

CHORUS 2

Stop telling me to grow a set of balls

A heart of stone isn’t in my nature

I’m a kid who was born to trauma bond

With every lover and every little hater

BRIDGE

They say I’m too sensitive

It’s a hallmark of my generation

I just need some military instruction

To shake me from my comfy situation

They say if I can’t handle the heat

I should fuck off from the kitchen

I should cowboy up and lock and load

And most of all just quit my bitchin’

VERSE 3

Word of advice to the assholes of the day

Don’t teach me how to shoot a gun

One of these days, I just might use it

A bullet is something you can’t outrun

You’re cocky and arrogant, what else is new?

You also have some narcissistic tendencies

One of these days, I’ll catch you slipping

And spill the blood of my favorite enemy

CHORUS 3

Stop telling me that being brave is easy

When you’re blessed with your privileges

I’m a dude who was born to trauma bond

Just like a good model American citizen

Stop threatening to put me in prison

When you’re the one who deserves it

If it means I don’t have to trauma bond

I’ll pump you with lead like I’m in the service

FINAL VERSE

I’m free from the prison of my mind

But now I’ve got brand new confines

A hellhole with bars on all four sides

And some beatings if I dare even cry

The cycle of abuse begins yet again

Every orange suit is my new best friend

Every guard is my brand new mommy

Be sure to open wide for the salty salami

Hair vs. Hair

 VERSE 1

While you were assed out, lost in a dream

I shaved your head bald like my man Mr. Clean

I’ll keep your locks as a game hunting trophy

For losing to me, it’s the least that you owe me

I could’ve cut out your silver-coated tongue

Could’ve ripped out your tobacco-coated lungs

Could’ve snipped off your two-inch pecker

Kept your sorry ass from being a home-wrecker

CHORUS

It’s hair vs. hair!

Should I use a razor or rip and tear?

It’s hair vs. hair!

Your scalp is so bloody, we call it rare

VERSE 2

No steaming hot towel over your face

No shoulder massage at a gentle pace

No aftershave with the vanilla scent

The beauty salon isn’t where you went

CHORUS

It’s hair vs. hair!

Should I use a razor or rip and tear?

It’s hair vs. hair!

Your scalp is so bloody, we call it rare

VERSE 3

With your chrome dome, you could join the army

Or be under the watch of a perverted carnie

It doesn’t feel good to be the victim, does it?

Then what makes you think I’d ever love it?

You don’t owe me a single dollar or penny

Your clumps of hair will be more than plenty

I’d say we’re even if only for the time being

Look into the mirror and hate what you’re seeing

EXTENDED CHORUS

It’s hair vs. hair!

Should I use a razor or rip and tear?

It’s hair vs. hair!

Your scalp is so bloody, we call it rare

It’s beauty vs. beast!

The roles have been reversed, you see

It’s man vs. monster!

One achieves victory, the other dishonor

It’s hair vs. hair!

A Medal of Freedom can never compare

To the feeling of keeping something of yours

No more lost sleep, in fact, I’ll fucking snore!

Matthew Must Die

My voices tell me that I am hope

I forgot to take my dosage of dope

Smoke wagon tucked in my pocket

Blast off like a motherfucking rocket

Roll into this rundown ghost town

The birthplace of slanderous sounds

My old foe has a price on his head

Bring him alive, but I prefer him dead

Some things are more important than coin

Like never forgetting that kick to the groin

Like never forgetting his evil laughter

And the bigoted slurs shortly thereafter

Has anyone seen my man Matthew?

I promise it’s all I’ll ever ask you

Drunk in the gutter is what you tell me?

Criminal rap sheet loaded with felonies?

Shoplifting and trespassing while stoned?

Burglarizing other people’s comfy homes?

Easier than shooting fish in a barrel

It’s time to make his gene pool sterile

Sure enough, he was a cinch to find

Drowning in a bottle of cheap wine

Scraggly beard no different from Chewie

The cigarette odor so thick and dewy

Every drug on the street in his system

Let’s find out if anyone will miss him

Pull out the smoke wagon and aim

Should I shoot to kill or shoot to maim?

Ah, who cares? He’s already dead

Among the living, but not in his head

He fucked up his life so very badly

That nothing else could be so damning

I give him another twenty-four hours

Before he dies in his own golden shower

I’m going home for the rest of the day

To my feline friend with whom I lay

Inglorious Basterds

MOVIE TITLE: Inglorious Basterds

DIRECTOR: Quentin Tarantino

YEAR: 2009

GENRE: War Movie

RATING: R for violence, language, and sexual content

GRADE: Mixed

With all the political tension in today’s world, who wouldn’t want to escape into a world of Nazi-slaying fun? Cutting off their scalps, beating them with a bat, shooting them up, burning them down, if there’s a way to kill a Nazi in World War II, Aldo Raine and his troops will make it happen. You know who else will make it happen? A lone Jewish woman named Shosanna whose family was slaughtered by the Nazi war machine. That’s a lot of vengeful desires from anybody not involved in the Third Reich. There’s no possible way that this movie could be anything but perfect, right? Well, that’s where Quentin Tarantino’s biggest fault comes into play: sometimes his movies drag on for an excruciatingly long time. Inglorious Basterds was no exception to that rule. I realize a movie can’t be all action and no drama, but the reverse is also true if the idea is to make a revenge flick: it can’t be all drama and too little action. Some of the chapters could have been cut short and it wouldn’t have hurt the movie in any way, especially the chapter where the Nazis play the card game at a bar. If you want your bloodthirsty fun, you’ll have to get in line like everyone else.

But when you get exactly what you wanted out of this film, it’ll be exactly as you expected. The outcome of the story was never in doubt for even a second. Aldo Raine and his troops are overpowered in spite of the fact that some of them get killed along the way. Shosanna’s own plans for revenge are so brilliant that detailed that no German soldier could possibly crack her code. Everything that could go right in this movie did go right…except for the element of surprise for the audience. I guess when the genre is described as a “revenge flick”, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. No serious detective work has to be done. But can I at least believe for one small minute that the good guys have a chance of losing? Having a few of their soldiers killed vulnerability does not make. I want to see some flaws. I want to see some cracks in the world’s most impressive plot armor. Maybe if the German propaganda machine took these kinds of notes, their films wouldn’t look so ridiculous on screen.

If you think this review is going to be a nonstop bash-fest, you’re wrong. It was enjoyable for what it was. Quentin Tarantino’s dialogue will always deliver no matter what the genre of his movies. The subterfuge his characters engage in is also an impressive feat that required an extraordinary amount of creativity. Above all else, however, I must give my highest praise to the character work of Hans Lander, the Nazi colonel nicknamed the “Jew Hunter”. No, I’m not condoning his belief system, just his villainy. Whenever he interrogates someone, he knows he’s got his victims by the throat. He purposefully tiptoes around the answers he receives to give his liars a false sense of hope. I’d call this a perfect game of cat and mouse…if the cat had drill bits for fangs, battleaxes for claws, and venom for drool. I’d dare say that Hans is even more intimidating and dangerous than his boss Hitler himself. He’s so believable as a villain that he can almost negate my earlier point of the outcome being too predicable. Key word being almost.

It wouldn’t be fair to call Inglorious Basterds my least favorite Quentin Tarantino movie, because all in all I did enjoy it. Having a least favorite Tarantino movie is like having a least favorite flavor of ice cream: in the end, it’s still ice cream and it’s still going to be more delicious than the creamy strudel Shosanna and Landers shared in the high scale restaurant. This movie gets a mixed grade from me, but it’ll be a high mixed, which means three-and-a-half stars out of five. In the interest of being decisive and honest, I’ll round it down to a solid three. Being average doesn’t have to be a bad thing, right?

Chain Whip (Beautiful Monster Theme Song)

VERSE 1

The seasons change and so does my mood

What good does it do to sit around and brood?

I’ve got a chain whip curled up on my hip

I’ve got enemies who need an afterlife trip

They took my soul and my intelligence

In my mind they took up permanent residence

Took my creativity and everything with it

How many chain lashes must be given?

CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

VERSE 2

Maybe whiplashes aren’t the answer

Strangulation doesn’t seem much faster

Chokehold suplex tickles my fancy

The anticipation makes me feel antsy

I’ve got a psychotic grin on my face

As your blood splatters all over the place

Your skin shredded, your bones broken

Your thick skull has been split wide open

CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

VERSE 3

If war is the answer, what’s the question?

What other solutions are even worth mention?

Should I shake your hand and call it a truce?

Should I suck your dick as even further proof?

Should I give you a hug? Accept your apology?

Or is this another instance of reverse psychology?

An iron head butt for your pretty little head

A hundred lashes even after you’re dead

EXTENDED CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

Seven! Eight! Bring on the hate!

Nine! Ten! Your reign will end!

Eleven! Twelve! See you in hell!

Thirteen! Fourteen! Scarlet dreams!

Keep on counting the lashes!

Dust to dust! Ashes to ashes!

WINDHAM’S DIALOGUE

It’s not that I don’t believe in love. It’s that love doesn’t believe in me. FUCK LOVE!

"Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic

AUTHOR: Marie Krepps

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Fictional Short Stories

SUBGENRE: Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror

GRADE: Pass

Marie Krepps has written a lot of short stories over the years and now they’re conveniently collected in this omnibus for your enjoyment. Whether you want sci-fi action, terrifying horror, heartfelt drama, or bloody violence, you will get what you came for when you pick up this amazing collection of stories. Once she has your attention, she won’t let go until you’re jolly-well finished with this one hundred plus page book.

Of all the stories in this collection, my absolute favorite would have to be Coffins, a graphically violent horror story about a teenage undertaker named Pablo who dismantles dead bodies after using them to smuggle contraband across the Mexican border. This whole story is basically a clinic on showing instead of telling and Ms. Krepps has every right in the world to show off her skills. The supporting character, a gangster named Mick, gets so ill watching Pablo do his work that there has to be multiple creative ways to describe said sickness, whether it’s his body language, his face changing colors, or the good old fashioned loss of lunch. Take notes, fellow indie authors. Professor Krepps’s class is now in session!

My other favorite story would have to be Too Late, which is a picture-perfect deconstruction of romances being rainbows and unicorns. In this story, a highly-trained soldier named Sarah must rescue her ex-boyfriend Jonas from an old neighborhood suffering through a horrific sandstorm. Their relationship was never going to work because Sarah is too battle-hardened and Jonas is too pacifistic. But even so, Sarah uses the memories of their romance to bring herself comfort on this dangerous mission. Ms. Krepps reinforces the idea that you can still care for someone long after the relationship is over. Being able to get along is a powerful thing that we don’t see too often among broken up couples. This brings me hope. Lots of hope!

And of course, if you’re looking for a revenge tale bathed in bitter blood, look no further than Sister Princess. It’s a medieval fantasy about two princesses, Greta and Angela, who compete for their father’s affection and throne as he’s getting ready to pass to the other side. While Angela is unwanted, lonely, and depressed, Greta is pretty, pompous, and arrogant. It’s pretty clear throughout the story who you’ll be rooting for to get the final nail in the coffin. Revenge will taste sweeter than an Oreo milkshake. Savor the flavor of delicious blood. It’s all yours! Cue the evil laughter.

My complaints about this short story collection are minimal at best. There are just a few typographical errors here and there. Some of the dialogue in Mason’s Promise is a little too Shakespearean for me to take seriously, especially when Celeste says that her arm was gnarled “lustily”. But it’s nothing an extra round of beta-reading can’t fix. The collection overall is fun to read and it’s another shining example of a struggling indie author making her dreams come true. If you look up to her and pay attention to what she says, your dreams will come true as well. A passing grade will go to this wonderful omnibus of short stories.

Dog Fucker

CHORUS 1

When you kill a human being, it drives me mad

When you kill an animal, it’s twice as bad

Dog fucker!

Dog fucker!

VERSE 1

A sodomite with a bully’s might

You came to kill in the dead of night

Rape and torture are your tools of trade

Cutting your victims with an iron blade

Your latest kill was a sexual thrill

Man’s best friend now lies down still

The blood on your dick is so damn sick

Now the murder charge is going to stick

CHORUS 2

When you kill a human being, it’s a lifelong curse

When you kill an animal, it’s ten times worse

Dog fucker!

Dog fucker!

VERSE 2

Now you find yourself in a tight corner

Locked up in a cage by the judge’s order

Your new cell mate has a bone to pick

It’s in his pants and it’s called his dick

Knowing the rape of the innocent puppy

Is vicious and violent, not soft and loving

Pornographic passion, metal bunk thrashing

It’s Marvel Comics and Hulk is smashing

CHORUS 3

Murdering a human is a mortal sin

Murdering a dog makes you the devil’s kin

Dog fucker!

Dog fucker!

VERSE 3

Revenge is a fantasy played out in cinema

It’s eating us alive and damn near killing us

But goddamn, it’s so easy to get pissed

Punishment is more than a slap on the wrist

I tried to be nice, friendly, and forgiving

But you’ve stolen that dog from the living

I’ve got furry friends chilling on my couch

Go near them and you’ll be screaming “Ouch!”

LULLABY ENDING

Lullaby and goodnight

You know it’s not right

Close your eyes and start to smile

You’ll be going away for a while

When the dawn lights the sky

You can hear your victims cry

Start your day with a smile

No one believes your guile

King Blizzard

Jason Clark was getting sick of waiting around. He aggressively rocked in his wooden chair on the front porch while stoically chewing a piece of wheat. The fields before him were bountiful with vegetables and fruit whether it was corn and potatoes or strawberries and watermelons. They all looked mouthwateringly delicious to even the biggest of appetites. These vast fields of food were all thanks to the backbreaking, sweat dripping hard work of the Clark family.

Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”

And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.

There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”

Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”

The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”

The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”

Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”

“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.

“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.

He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.

“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”

In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”

“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.

And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.

As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”

Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.

The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.

In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.

Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.

What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!

Dancing with Mary Jane

“Justice will find you!” With blood in her lungs and a slowing pulse, those were the last words of Tara Greenlee after being gunned down by Officers Frank Hennessy and Sylvester James. Her head dropped to the sidewalk and her mouth expelled a puddle of life juices. Everyone around her recorded the scene on their cell phones. Some of them screamed in horror. Others burst into a waterfall of tears. Frank and Sylvester laughed at all of them and rubbed their eyes in mockery. All of this violence over a bag of medical marijuana, which Sylvester was dancing around with and flashing in the faces of bystanders.

Because Tara Greenlee’s killers were on-duty cops, they didn’t get the death penalty or even life in prison for their heinousness. They were suspended with pay for a whole month. There were factory workers, teachers, grocery store clerks, and others who worked their asses off their entire lives without getting so much as a day off. In Paulson City, if you were on the police force, all you had to do to enjoy a month-long vacation was brutalize civilians.

How would Frank and Sylvester spend their vacation? They could have gone on a Caribbean Cruise. They could have gone mountain climbing in the Rockies. They could have sat on their asses on a Florida beach. But since Tara Greenlee’s “contraband” was still in their possession, they had other ideas of how to kill a month quicker than they killed her.

The “festivities” would take place at Officer Frank Hennessy’s house, particularly in his living room where the flat screen TV hung on the wall and a bowl full of potato chips was resting on the marble coffee table. Frank was already stuffing his pudgy, bearded face with chips when there was a knock on the door followed by, “It’s me, Sylvester!” Frank answered the door and the two corrupt cops high-fived and hugged each other like their bromance was much more than that. Frank was especially cheery when his skinny buddy flashed the bag of Mary Jane they had unlawfully taken from Miss Greenlee.

“So, what are we watching tonight, my friend? Are we gonna go all out and watch The Matrix? Maybe we should watch a Tim Burton movie or something. Or how about that Pink Floyd movie!” said a giddy Sylvester James.

“I got something better than all of those,” said Frank. He pulled a DVD out of his collection called “The Best of Both Worlds”, the container showing naked hermaphroditic women drooling for sex.

Sylvester clapped his hands and laughed like a little kid in a toy store. He bounced his way to the couch and allowed Frank to put the DVD in the player. The two rogue cops began rolling up little marijuana cigarettes as the “hot action” was being shown on the video screen. As soon as Frank pulled out a Zippo lighter and lit both of their joints, the two cops sank into the couch like quicksand. With dopey red eyes and drooling smiles, they watched the porn movie with fluttering in their hearts for the double-organ actresses.

The first twenty minutes of the movie revolved around Sylvester and Frank sitting crouched forward to hide their “little problems”. They laughed like donkeys as they smacked each other with couch pillows and jokingly called each other “fags”. The fun and festivities came to an abrupt halt when Frank relaxed in the sofa and started seeing the porn starlets in a much different way.

One of the naked women’s skin started necrotizing into a black and red lava mix. She grew fangs that looked like little daggers as they hung down to her bottom lip. Red scaly dragon wings sprouted from her back. A brown hairy tail sprouted as well. Her fingernails grew to the size of Freddy Kruger’s blades. When she screamed at Frank, she sounded like a grizzly bear ready to maul its helpless prey.

“Dude, is this some good shit or what?” said Sylvester, who at this point looked less like a mop-haired beanpole and more like a fire-eyed zombie with blue skin.

Frank was hard-pressed to disagree with his partner’s statement. “Yeah, man. That bitch had some good shit on her. I love the war on drugs!”

The demonic woman got on all fours and crawled out of the television set, shattering the coffee table upon making her arrival. She let out another beastly roar, which caused Frank to wet his pants and Sylvester to laugh like a fool. “Come on, man, this shit ain’t real! It’s just a hallucination!” said Officer James, who then got his whole head bitten off by the frightening woman.

Frank was crawling over the couch arm and screaming in terror while Sylvester’s headless body squirted a fountain of blood in the air. The demon woman licked her lips after sloppily masticating what was left of her victim’s dome. “Mmmmm, delicious!” she said in a throaty voice before roaring again.

Officer Hennessy crawled on the hardwood floor and let out panicky groans. The demonic woman jumped in front of him and revealed her true face. She now had the scraggly dark hair and bloodshot eyes of Tara Greenlee. Frank got into a fetal position and cried like a little bitch. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what I did! Just please, leave me alone!”

Tara grabbed Frank by his white shirt’s collar pulled his face close to hers, smiling like a skeleton with slimy dental hygiene. “It’s too late for atonement, my friend!” she said in her growling voice. “You took something from me that I fought for since I was a little child! That marijuana was for breast cancer! I was about to make a full recovery when you and that bloody piece of garbage over there shot me in cold blood!” Tara was breathing deeply and grunting in between cadences.

Tears were dribbling down Frank’s cheeks as he kept saying, “I’m sorry!” over and over again. Tara smiled her sick smile at him and chucked him halfway across the room, where he crashed through his desk and screamed with a mixture of fright and pain. The monstrous avenger pointed at Frank Hennessy and laughed while taking pictures of him on a smart phone she produced with her magical powers. She even rubbed her eyes sarcastically and said, “Boohoo!” with even more mockery.

The irony wasn’t lost on Frank, who in his moment of crippling pain and grueling tears felt around for something he could use to defend himself. It was then he remembered the desk was where he kept his pistol. Tara continued to horse laugh, but Frank would have the last word when he found his pistol and opened fire.

Every bullet hole that pierced Tara’s skin let out a volcanic eruption of blood and organs until the whole living room floor was flooded up to Frank’s ankles (now that he was standing on wobbly legs). He limped and trudged through the murky flood until he saw Tara on her knees screaming and crying in agony. “You little bitch!” yelled Frank before he jumped on her and rained down relentless fists upon her horrifying visage. Her cheek bones, nose, and teeth were cracking and splitting with every hard shot. Frank even held Tara’s head under the blood flood in an attempt to drown her. After a while of kicking and bubbling, the demon stopped moving.

Frank, ignorant of the pain he felt crashing through his own desk, held his arms up in victory and shouted, “Yes! How does that feel, you little skank! Nobody screws with the Paulson City Police! Nobody! We’re number one!” He repeated that last line over and over again until the pain finally caught up to him and he passed out on the bloody floor.

A bright new morning was shining its sunlight through Frank’s windows. The rays felt like little flamethrowers against his eyes. His head was thumping like a bass drum. He coughed violently as he woke up for the day. After rolling on his back and slowly opening his eyes, he saw his fellow police officers looking down on him and confirming he was alive.

The cops pulled Frank to his feet and he suddenly got a better view of what was going on around him. No demons. No fangs. No claws. No dragon wings. The only blood stain in the whole living room was the one left behind by Sylvester, who was being carted away on a gurney with a light blue blanket draped over his corpse.

“Franklin George Hennessy? You’re being placed under arrest for the murder of Officer Sylvester Kenneth James. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to legal counsel. If you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be provided to you by the state. Do you have any questions about these rights?” said one of the cops while Frank’s hands were being cuffed behind his back.

Frank did have a question and it was a good one too: “What the fuck just happened here?!”

Vote With a Flamethrower

VERSE 1
If you can’t stand the way this place is
Burn it down, douse the flames with piss
Mark the graves with a pile of ashes
Mark the living with fiery slashes


CHORUS
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Vote with fire!
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Pyrocratic justice!


VERSE 2
The glass ceiling is coming down on us
While the fortunate ones lick their lips with lust
Cash is worthless if it’s burning to pulp
Let’s torch this shit and get out of this cult


CHORUS
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Vote with fire!
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Pyrocratic justice!


VERSE 3
The apocalypse was a long time coming
There is no sense in turning and running
The rebel souls have fire in their hearts
They’d love nothing more than tearing shit apart
The rage was building up for hundreds of years
We tried to extinguish the fires with our tears
But in the very end, all ashes look the same
When they’re caught up in a whirlwind of flames


HOOK
Fear, hatred, zeal, and sorrow
There truly is no tomorrow
All they had to do was knock off the bullshit
Now all that’s left is a smoldering lava pit
Could things have really been different for us?
Depends on the voices we could actually trust
Insulting debates are no longer a must
The world we know is burning into dust!


EXTENDED CHORUS
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Vote with fire!
Vote with a flamethrower!
Vote! Vote!
Pyrocratic justice!
Vote with a flame thrower!
Vote! Vote!
Breathe in the smoke!
Vote with your heart’s desire!
Vote! Vote!
Watch the world catch on fire!

Zombie-Ogre

VERSE 1
Eat, sleep, shatter, repeat
Ultra-violence for human meat
Winner, winner, chicken dinner
The glutinous one is a true sinner
Blood on his fangs, flesh on his tongue
Poison in his gut, disease in his lungs
Zombie-Ogre is coming to kill
Cannibalism, a sadistic thrill


CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre! X2


VERSE 2
The mosh pit is more like a buffet table
Survive genocide? You’re clearly unable
You can kick and punch, but your ass is lunch
It’s just a formality and not only a hunch
Heavy metal fuels his venomous veins
Every guitar riff ensures his iron reign
Zombie-Ogre is the master of slam dance
Getting out alive is a fucking slim chance


CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre! X2


VERSE 3
Never forget, you made him this way
You laughed at him every goddamn day
You shamed his body from head to toe
Threw rocks at him with crushing blows
Now he’s hungry for the flesh of humans
Disgusting creatures just like he knew them
The meat is so tender it falls of the bone
The blood is perfect for the king in his throne


EXTENDED CHORUS
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
Don’t worry, bitches, it’ll all be over!
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
Cannibalism gives him a massive boner!
Zombie-Ogre! Zombie-Ogre!
He can end it quickly if you just roll over!
Submit yourself to the barbecue rack!
Feel the flames turning your body black!


FINAL LINE
Zombie-Ogre! Mmm, mmm, good!

Rookie Revenge

VERSE 1
It isn’t that I’m not coachable
It isn’t that I’m not approachable
But when your anger burns so bright
I will unleash the demon inside


CHORUS
Respect is never a one-way street
Rookies are never pieces of meat
Coaches will have to accept defeat
Rookie revenge is oh so sweet


VERSE 2
It isn’t that I’m not teachable
It isn’t that I’m not reachable
But when you put your hands on me
I will make you burn and bleed
Respect for authority has to be earned
This is the most important lesson to learn
When you treat human beings like animals
We’ll eat you alive like a cannibal


CHORUS
Respect is never a one-way street
Rookies are never pieces of meat
Coaches will have to accept defeat
Rookie revenge is oh so sweet


VERSE 3
Blow your whistle, blow your horn
Throw off the mask of sanity worn
Scream until your throat is bleeding
And I shall unleash a savage beating


EXTENDED CHORUS
Respect is never a one-way street
Rookies are never pieces of meat
Coaches will have to accept defeat
Rookie revenge is oh so sweet
I smell the blood from miles away
I see the scars like the light of day
Are you happy, Mr. Drill Instructor?
I am too, you abusive motherfucker!

Stone Cold

It was feeding time for the axe-wielding tribal warrior known as Brutus Warpath. He didn’t feed on just any kind of snack. He wanted blood. He wanted souls. He hungered for vengeance against those who murdered his wife. The hunger was driving him insane. On his path to vengeance, Brutus cleaved through every goblin, ogre, and zombie who dared to stand in his way. All that remained of his path of destruction was an ocean of blood and a mountain of corpses.

But none of those victories would be enough to satisfy the bearskin-wearing, dreadlocked barbarian. For his main course (and maybe his dessert), he wanted no more than the two people directly responsible for the death of his wife: the hog sorcerer Zod Ragefist and the kinky human dark paladin Domino Gunn. The image of those two burned so badly in his mind that they left third degree scars. Brutus’ bloodlust was growing with every moment the image of those two fiends murdering the one he loved tormented his mind. And now it was time for payback.

The anger and hatred within Brutus Warpath had months to build up in his system, probably because it took that long to locate Zod and Domino’s lair. He experienced the aches and pains of his pent up stress such as heart palpitations, headaches, and muscle soreness. Like the tough son of a bitch he was, Brutus pushed these “minor” pains to the backburner and put his game face on.

The lair was actually a hollowed out dragon corpse with the scales, bones, and blood stains preserved with Zod’s dark magic. Was any of this supposed to be intimidating to Brutus? Maybe, but the tensed up warrior readied his battleaxe and entered the mouth of the dragon with a stalking pace.

As he crept down the hallway of this dragon corpse, he could see runic symbols carved into the bones, the magic of which glowed bright orange. Were Zod and Domino expecting him? They should have been. In fact, Brutus didn’t want to wait to seek his revenge anymore. He gritted his teeth, gripped his axe handle tightly, and growled like a lion as he ran down the corridor.

Brutus was so blinded by his rage that he failed to notice his legs getting heavier and heavier with each blitz. He thought he could just soldier on and ignore the pain, but then he experienced yet another sharp sensation, this time in his arm. He collapsed to the ground huffing and puffing due to the angry stress he put on himself.

“What’s wrong, Brutus? Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous around a woman like me.” That seductive voice came from none other than Domino Gunn, the female dark paladin whose studded leather armor looked more like a dominatrix’s corset and whose boots looked more suited for someone with a trample fetish. Her weapon of choice, a ball and chain, wasn’t very sexy at all and reminded everyone who screwed with her that they were always in the fight of their lives.

Flanking the lovely, yet dangerous raven haired vixen was someone who could never be accused of loveliness: Zod Ragefist, a humanoid warthog with piercings and runic tattoos everywhere while wearing a red wizard’s robe and carrying a wooden snake staff. Zod and Domino were the last two people Brutus should have been having stress pains around.

As the barbarian was still trying to get his wits about him, Domino leaned down next to him and cuddled him like a small child. “There there, little one. It’ll all be over soon. You can say hi to that bitch wife of yours. But really, why would you want to see her again when you can have all of this? I’ve been watching you, Brutus, and I’ve been studying you. You and I, we both want the same thing. We have the same desires. Now that you’ve finally found us, hehe, I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

Domino licked Brutus’ dark-complexioned face and that was enough to set him off and for him to ignore his pain once again. The warrior picked up his axe and attempted to chop Domino’s head off, but the crafty dark paladin ducked underneath and threw a shot of her own with her ball and chain, which Brutus also ducked. The two of them threw their hardest shots at each other with such brutal speed and deadly power, yet they both evaded each other’s attacks with acrobatic flips and shimmies.

The single-minded Brutus already forgot that there was another combatant in the room, Zod Ragefist, who was chanting a magic incantation with his throaty pig voice. The warthog pointed his staff and threw a stream of electricity into Brutus’ body, causing him to ball up in pain and scream in dramatic torture. The electricity continued to surge into the barbarian’s body until he collapsed onto the ground and coughed up blood.

Zod and Domino leaned down next to his prone body and the former of the two villains said, “Look at you, barbarian. You’re so blinded by rage that you don’t even know what the hell your swinging at. How can a woman mean that much to you? You walked into a death trap, all by yourself, no less, and somehow you’re okay with this. I knew your wife very well, Brutus. She would never condone this kind of recklessness, even from you.”

Domino added, “You know how in romance novels how the sweet innocent girl tries to fix the coldhearted man? Do you know how often that works? Never! It clearly didn’t work with you. You look like hell, my friend.” Brutus coughed up more blood, but that didn’t stop Domino from snuggling up next to him like they were a couple laying in bed. “But if anybody can change your ways, it just might be me. I’m not going to do it with sweet, diabetes-inducing tactics. My love is tough. My love is hard. And yet, my love…is forever!”

The dominatrix-like dark paladin leaned forward and tongue kissed a vulnerable Brutus, tasting his blood and taking a little bit of his pride along the way. Just like with her previous advances, all this did was anger the barbarian to where he rolled Domino on her back and pinned her arms down with his bloody mouth drooling over her now fearful face.

“Is that why you killed her? So that I would be single again?! You wanted to have me that badly?!” shouted Brutus. “Well, guess what, you crazy bitch. Today is your lucky day. For the first time in a long time, a stud muffin like me…is going to give you head!”

Domino and Zod shared a laugh together before the former said, “Oh, that’s rich. Well, what are you waiting for…stud muffin?”

“Yeah…what am I waiting for. Except I don’t mean THAT kind of head. I had something a little more piggish in mind!” In one fluid motion, Brutus leapt to his feet and threw Domino’s body at Zod, who dropped his staff and caught her in mid-air. With the warthog’s hands too busy to cast spells, Brutus picked up his axe and took the world’s biggest swing. The kind of “head” he was referring to was the one on Zod’s shoulder’s, which fell into Domino’s lap while the evil sorcerer’s body dropped to the ground.

The sight of her master’s head caused Domino to scream like the woman she was and back up against the dragon’s ribs. Brutus looked down on the frightened fighter with his bloody axe ready and his violent expression creepier than ever. Now that he was in a position of power, Brutus felt the need to relax his pose. But as soon as he did, the stress pains hit him again and he was on his knees clutching his aching chest while struggling to breathe.

The sight of her “lover boy” in pain caused Domino to stop screaming and instead adopt an expression full of rage and anger. She crawled on her hands and knees over to Brutus and pulled his head up by the dreadlocks. “Was it worth it?!” she asked. “Did you think getting revenge on me and Zod would bring you peace?! Well, it’s going to give you all the peace you need, because sooner or later, you’re going to die and deserve it! We could have been something together, Brutus! We could have been lovers! But instead you choose to side with that harlot!”

Brutus’ breathing was getting slower while Domino’s was getting angrier. The barbarian smiled a bloody smile and said, “Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. I saved the last dance just for you. We can still be lovers, Domino. In fact…close your eyes and let me give you a kiss!”

The “kiss” ended up being a vampire-like bite into Domino’s throat, which flooded with blood upon breaking the skin. Domino choked while Brutus bathed in bloodlust. This would be a heavenly feeling to take into the afterlife with him. If there was such thing as a heaven, he would be all sexed up for his wife and they would make true love like a couple of wild animals. Only a few more drinks of blood and both warriors were gone, Brutus via heart attack and Domino via suffocation and blood loss. Talk about going down in a blaze of glory.