Showing posts with label Rifle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rifle. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

The Gunman Is Always Right

VERSE 1

A dangerous resolution, it’s just an illusion

The gunman won’t agree to a peaceful solution

Bullets equal power and might makes right

Rifle’s locked and loaded, don’t put up a fight

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 2

His newfound hostages are now his disciples

He’s got a god complex, he’ll be in charge for a while

He makes them sing hymns through their tape gags

Acolytes burning candles for the guy with clips and mags

He could write a bible with the blood of his rivals

That he nailed to a cross in a Jesus Christ style

He could go anywhere and make it his church

Hellfire and gun powder will equally burn

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 3

His rifle has jammed, it refuses to click

So the brainwashed flock kick him in the dick

Punch him in the face until it’s blood he tastes

It ain’t the blood of Christ, it’s dripping with haste

Kick him in the ribs until every bone splits

Kick him in the ass, he’s got never-ending shits

The power dynamic is once again balanced

It’s only fair that the victims get their share

 

CHORUS 2

They said, “You ain’t our god

You’re just a fraud

We’re always right”

They said, “You’re off to jail

The sirens wail

We’re always right”

Monday, February 26, 2018

Thanks For the Creative Fuel, Asshole

CHORUS 1
While you’re ruling everything in your castle
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

VERSE 1
Every time you lay hands on me
Every time you haunt my TV
Every time my broken heart bleeds
You’re planting another artistic seed
I’m not in the business of staying down
I’m in the business of running the town
If it’s pen to paper or fist to chin
I’m already the favorite to win

CHORUS 2
While you’re making the whole world sick
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, dick!

VERSE 2
Art is a weapon and I’m the warrior, bitch
My words will leave you dead in the ditch
A traumatized mind and a body of bruises?
They mean nothing if my enemy loses

CHORUS 3
While you’re shopping for discount caskets
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, jackass!

VERSE 3
I don’t need a sword or automatic rifle
To leave my enemies in the highest pile
You do the work for me by being a clown
Lower than bathroom stains so brown
Lower than a sewer rat guzzling piss
Lower than the target you’re sure to miss
Lower than the ball bag of a venomous snake
I celebrate your doom with ice cream and cake

CHORUS 4
While you’re gifting me a number one hit
For every time you throw a fucking fit
For every throat that I want to slit
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, you little shit!
I’ve got to say one more time

Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Wolf's Cannonball

Little Red skipped and hopped through the forest with a wicker picnic basket in hand and a sunshine smile on her face. Her red cloak and hood flapped like a flag in the morning wind while goose bumps formed on her arms from the chilly weather. After a lengthy summer of boiling hot weather, a gentle breeze was most certainly welcome. By the time Red reached the top of the hill, she gazed into the distance with a star-struck expression and said, “My, what big eyes you have! You dead bastard!”

Her innocent aura was replaced with a menacing scowl as she pulled the hood over her face and knelt down to unload her picnic basket. Instead of delicious treats for grandma, Red pulled out pieces of a sniper rifle and assembled them with military quickness. She laid on her stomach and peered through the scope to acquire her target. Even with so many trees standing in her way, the target was as clear as the morning weather. “That bounty money is as good as mine, motherfucker!” she said with a sadistic grin.

Within Little Red Sniper’s crosshairs was the Big Bad Wolf himself, the hairy beast moving gracefully with martial arts movements. Every spin kick and palm strike would have made the legendary Bruce Lee proud. One of his spin kicks managed to slice one of the trees down. The thunderous crash to the ground made Little Red Sniper giggle and shake her head. “Pathetic. That’s what it is,” she said under her breath. “All that kung fu BS won’t mean a damn thing with a bullet in your head.”

After performing his kata, the Big Bad Wolf stood still and breathed intensely to relax his body while he spread his palms out. This wasn’t the kind of breath that could huff and puff and blow somebody’s house down, but it did let Little Red know that he worked hard to perfect his craft despite her unimpressed stare through the scope. The innocent-looking sniper focused her crosshairs right between Wolfie’s eyes and she took the perfect shot.

As the thunderous blast rang out through the forest, Little Red Sniper got up and celebrated her perfect shot with arm swinging dances and moonwalk shuffles. She giggled as she peered through the sniper scope to see just how badly Wolfie’s head exploded. “No fucking way,” she said to herself. “This is some sugar frosted bullshit!”

Wolfie had caught the bullet with his fangs and spit it out like chewed bubblegum. Instead of splattered brains, all she got was a tiny trickle of blood running down his furry chin. The martial arts genius’s deadly grin showed a dark side of him that the public was used to seeing. Even Little Red had been quivering in her boots upon seeing such a vicious expression.

With her rifle still concentrated on the Big Bad Wolf, Little Red slowly backed away while stuttering uh’s repeatedly. The further she backed away, the closer Wolfie got as he power walked across the forest to go in for the kill. Little Red kept backing away until she bumped into a muscular figure behind her and dropped to her knees, losing her rifle in the process.

When Little Red reached over shakily to pick up her weapon, she felt a death grip around the nape of her neck as it yanked her off the ground kicking and screaming. “Put me down, you big oaf! I’ll pop your head open once I get my rifle!” she threatened.

The massive hand turned her around and now she was face to face with yet another razor sharp mouth and bloodlust glare. The orange flannel shirt, the baggy blue jeans, the black combat boots, and the blood-covered axe, not to mention the filthy green skin: they all spelled the presence of Hacksaw the grumpy lumberjack. The orc leaned his face closer to Red’s and said in a throaty voice, “You ain’t gonna do shit!” before tossing her aside easier than a beach ball.

After Little Red bounced off of a tree stump, Hacksaw kicked the sniper rifle away into the nearby bushes while the Big Bad Wolf leapt onto the battlefield with grace and dexterity. Wolfie did some marital arts punches and tornado kicks in the air to warm himself up, but only received a belly laugh from an indifferent Hacksaw. “You think any of that shit’s going to matter once I chop your goddamn head off?” he mockingly asked. “I don’t give a damn about your big bad reputation; that money is mine!”

Hacksaw charged at Wolfie and swung his axe like a barbarian possessed by eye-bulging rage. While that battle was going on, Little Red wiped the dirt out of her eyes and slowly crawled towards the bushes where her sniper rifle was kicked. “Almost there…” she said weakly before Hacksaw accidentally stepped on her hand and made it sound like he walked on packing peanuts.

“Yeouch!” hollered Little Red as she pulled her hand out and felt it pulsate with redness like she was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Watch where you’re stepping, you giant sack of turds!”

Hacksaw grabbed Little Red by her crunchy wrist and slammed her against Wolfie, sending him flying backwards against a tree, which crackled and smashed upon impact. After tossing Little Red aside once again, Hacksaw raised his axe to the sky and shouted, “Yes! That bounty money’s mine! Ha-ha! I did it! Woo!”

Little Red once again attempted to crawl towards her weapon, broken hand and all. This time she was sure she would retrieve it. It was inches away from her good fingertips. Victory would be hers and bullets would fly everywhere in this god forsaken forest. Her fingertips were on the barrel when she felt a hard boot come down across her spinal cord. She yelped in pain and howled like a puppy while Hacksaw pulled her up by her blond locks.

“I’ve had just about all I can stand of you, you crazy bitch!” grunted Hacksaw with his axe raised in the air. “All I wanted was a nice beachside vacation for my family and you’re out here trying to take that shit away from me! That pretty little head of yours is coming off today!”

Little Red spit out blood and protested, “Beachside vacation?! You’re doing all of this to get sand in your ass?! My grandmother has cancer, for god’s sake! Hell, there are lots of guys out there who need that bounty money more than you do! There will always be time to get salt water in your nose and sand in your G-string! My grandmother has six weeks to live! I need this money, damn it!”

“Ah, who cares about that old hag?!” grumbled Hacksaw. “She would have been dead even if she didn’t have cancer! She’s probably so old that she has Jesus on speed dial!”

“So this is it, huh?” said a familiar grunting voice. Once Hacksaw recognized it as an arm-folded Big Bad Wolf, he released his grip on Little Red and allowed her to scoot away while holding her lower back. Wolfie continued with, “You two are finally going to be the ones who take me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit? Of course they’re going to pin it on me. I’m a fucking wolf! Never mind that the two of you are killing each other over some ill-gotten reward. Never mind that children go missing every day around here. Never mind that not one body was found out in these woods. Not one fucking body!”

A beat of silence befell the bounty hunters as their expressions softened and their shoulders slacked. Wolfie wasn’t done yet. “I know how the so-called justice system works. It can’t be called justice at all. The guy with the sharpest teeth and the martial arts skills is automatically guilty despite there being no fucking evidence of any crime. How dare you judge me based on a fake reputation! How dare you come at me looking for a shallow reward! If I wanted to waste my time with you guys, both of you would be dead as fried chicken by now!”

Wolfie stroked his chin and as a light bulb went off in his head. “Come to think of it, there is one technique I’d like to try, but it might actually kill me, it’s so powerful. I’ve been working on it for years. If I could get it right, both of you would be dead ass motherfuckers and I could finally live in peace. Yeah, that sounds about right…I call it the Wolf’s Cannonball!”

Holding her hands up in defeat, Little Red pleaded, “Now listen, Wolfie-Pie: you don’t need to do that shit. Both of us will get out of here and leave you alone. Hell, we’ll probably start a petition to get that bounty off your head. Right, Hacksaw?”

“Wolf’s Cannonball, my ass! I ain’t gonna help him with a damn thing! He needs to die and if you’re too much of a sissy to collect that bounty, I’m going to do it!” shouted Hacksaw as he charged at Wolfie with his axe yet again despite Little Red’s protests.

In defense the Big Bad Wolf backed up Hacksaw by curling into a ball and spinning in the air with mystic blue energy surrounding him. Little Red crawled on the ground like a snail while Hacksaw tripped over everything in fear until he was on his knees crouching into the fetal position. The faster Wolfie spun in the air, the wider the blue energy spread and the tighter Little Red and Hacksaw clutched their prone bodies. In a moment of desperation, the two hunters even hugged each other knowing their financial wishes wouldn’t come true and their lives would be over.

In a blinding flash of blue light, a jet engine wooshing noise flew past Little Red Sniper and Hacksaw and had them screaming like torture victims in hell. They screamed even louder as their skin boiled and their hairs stood up. The energy got hotter and the light was bright enough to damage eyes worse than a solar eclipse. And then…total darkness. All that remained of Little Red and Hacksaw’s pain were migraine-sized headaches and pulsating eyeballs.

“You can let go of me now, Hacksaw,” said Little Red Sniper in a sheepish voice. The orc lumberjack obeyed and the two of them slowly rose to their feet while dusting themselves off. Once Little Red popped her spine back into place, she and Hacksaw saw that the Wolf’s Cannonball had left a deep trail beneath them and that trail was leading into the city. They could see the castle from here as it exploded into a bright blue fire before being sucked up in a gigantic energy beam blasting into the sky.

“So that’s the Wolf’s Cannonball. He didn’t want to use it on a couple of bounty hunters. He wanted to take down the justice system. Eh, makes sense,” said Little Red with shrugged shoulders.

“I bet that castle as a shit load of gold in it somewhere. Government buildings usually do. There’s probably enough in there for both of us to get what we want,” said Hacksaw.

“Are you suggesting that we loot the castle?” asked Little Red in minor shock. Once Hacksaw smiled and winked at her, she smiled back and said, “For the first time in my life, I like the way you think!”

The two bounty hunters wrapped their arms around each other and walked from the scene. Hacksaw asked, “Don’t you want your sniper rifle?”

“Meh. I’ll just buy a new one. Maybe I’ll get a rocket launcher, who knows?” said Little Red nonchalantly.


“I also like the way you think!”

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Lions

VERSE 1
Elmer Fudd is hunting for blood
He’s about to be peeled like a spud
Lion claws will rip out his intestines
Cockroaches will feast on the infection
You fuck with nature, you get the fangs
Your spine will snap with the loudest bang
Your ribs will crack like shattered glass
Vultures will devour your lifeless ass

CHORUS
Lions! X4

VERSE 2
The lion’s den is far off limits
You won’t last two fucking minutes
Bring your rifles, bring your buddies
Doesn’t mean shit, you goddamn dummy
A pile of bones picked squeaky clean
A trail of blood to decorate this scene
Splattered brains the size of green peas
Shredded skin blown away in the breeze

CHORUS
Lions! X4

VERSE 3
If you hunt for fun, your life is done
Rotting into shit underneath the sun
Mother Nature wants her planet back
The lions want to roll with the pack
A trophy doesn’t mean a damn thing
Who the fuck died and made you king?
I hope you brought your screaming voice
Fuck with animals and you’ve got no choice

EXTENDED CHORUS
Lions! Lions!
Gatekeepers to your burning hell!
Lions! Lions!
Dead humans leave a rancid smell!
Lions! Lions!
Don’t shit where the creatures dwell!
Lions! Lions!

Pray for your own necromantic spell!

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Screw the Zoo

The leonine samurai Dijas Kai watched and waited high in a tree for the perfect time to strike. Even with his massive frame, the dense foliage provided a perfect camouflage for his green robe. His breathing was shallow and measured so as not to attract the attention of zoo patrons. He didn’t want to throw his blade around so recklessly, but these rifle-wielding zookeepers stationed at every cage might give him a reason to. The thought of having his own prison to live in brought a vicious glare to his face.

“Nobody deserves to be caged like this,” Dijas thought to himself as he scoped the zoo at the various “attractions”. Monkeys flipping around for the giggles of small children. Elephants lazing around on the concrete while being bombarded with peanuts. Giraffes trying to find space to stick their heads out of their undersized cages. The one attraction that made Dijas’s muscles tense was seeing baby lions moping in their enclosure with no mother to play with.

Seeing these imprisoned animals sent a hot rage through the samurai’s veins. He wanted to stain the ground with these insufferable humans’ blood. He wanted to snap necks, slash limbs, and smash faces, all with extreme prejudice and no absence of malice. It wasn’t his time to strike just yet.

Too many zookeepers with their tranquilizer darts ready to fire. Too many fat obnoxious patrons munching on cotton candy and drinking caffeinated sugar water while ignoring the cries of their bratty children. In Dijas’s mind, these people deserved each other. Then again, it was better to pull this operation off during the day than at night when the security intensified with robotic traps and even more powerful guns.

In addition to the lonely lion cubs that customers were blindly “awing” over, another enclosure grabbed Dijas’s attention: one that was covered with a surrounding curtain. Even with his distance high in the tree, he could make out the sign that said, “Sarah Tonin”. A cheap joke, no doubt, as if these animals needed more humiliation at the hands of careless owners.

When the zookeepers removed the curtain, however, Dijas’s blood boiled like molten lava. It wasn’t a family of monkeys. It wasn’t more miserable lions. It was a shackled human being. She sat on a tree stump with her head hung low and tears dropping from her eyes. Her face was painted like a skeleton clown and her only clothing was a black athletic bra and gray sweatpants. Her hair was done in the style of red pigtails, as if to add to the cuteness factor in the same way baby lions did by rolling around.

“Hey, monster! You want a peanut?!” shouted a little boy before chucking a handful at Sarah. She barely flinched when the salty snacks hit her. Her flinching intensified when cotton candy was being thrown at her. Her flinching turned to thrashing when she felt the coldness of an energy drink splashed against her smooth skin.

The patrons’ fits of laughter and mockery were hushed as they looked around for the source of a lion’s growl. Surely, the baby cubs couldn’t have made such a frantic noise. They were just children. Another growl sounded off across the zoo. And a much louder growl made the customers shiver in their giant shorts. Once noisy children were now whimpering against their mother’s thunder thighs. Ignorant fathers also huddled with their wives as the lion’s roar descended upon their fragile ears. Zookeepers’ rifles were locked and loaded as they looked around for the source.

The group of gunners huddled close together and formed a circle around their disgusting patrons. One shot from their rifles and their target would snooze and drool for hours on end. Dijas didn’t care; this was his time to strike! With his katana drawn and his roars deafening the crowd, he leaped down from the tree and sliced one of the zookeepers in two from asshole to appetite. Customers bundled together and shrieked in terror at the sight of organs and blood splashing all over the pavement.

The zookeepers aimed their rifles at Dijas and were ready to take him down if it wasn’t for the massive anthropomorphic lion grabbing a heavyset couple and using them as human shields with his blade firmly against their necks. “Go ahead! Fire! Shoot those tinker toys like you actually stand a fucking chance! You think I give a shit about these so called innocent lives?! Nobody here is innocent! You all are a bunch of disgusting shit weasels with too much self-esteem and not enough discipline! You’re teaching your children to be just as hateful as you! You people make me sick!”

“Take it easy, big guy. Nobody needs to get hurt,” said one of the eight remaining zookeepers as his arms shook the entire time.

“What do you mean nobody needs to get hurt?!” shouted Dijas. “I’m hurting now! These animals are hurting! And most of all, that poor girl you so cleverly named Sarah Tonin is hurting the worst! She’s a human fucking being, for god’s sake! And you decided to give her a cute little punch line for a name?!”

“It was my idea,” said Sarah in a medicated tone. Everybody’s attention turned away from the sword-slinging lunatic and towards the teary-faced “clown” with her neck and back painfully hunched over. “I deserve to be here. I’m not a human being. I’m an animal, just like the lions and monkeys. I don’t deserve to be loved. I’m just a freak of nature. Don’t take pity on me.”

Dijas’s heart sank like a brick tied around a drowning man’s ankle. Tears formed in his once fierce eyes, a frown sagged his rough features, and his blade’s grip around the obnoxious family’s throats loosened to where they could slide underneath and be free.

“Hey, assholes! Pay attention! Shoot him!” shouted one of the zookeepers. A popping noise sounded off and Dijas dropped to his knees, shedding the last of his waterfall tears before slumping over to the ground and weeping like the bored animal he was about to become. His whimpering became progressively softer until his animalistic drool mixed in with the pool of blood he left earlier.

“Holy shit, that was close!” said one of the zookeepers. Patrons silently backed away with tears in their own eyes as the riflemen gathered around Dijas’s prone body to try and lift the heavy beast. They kept debating among themselves who took the shot that knocked the samurai out. Nobody would admit to it. The debate turned into a cacophonic shouting match as the zookeepers held the lion by his arms and legs.

Their ear-piercing jibber-jabber was silenced by the sound of Dijas letting out a monstrous laugh. The zookeepers let go of him as the lion produced the shell of a tiny cherry bomb from his pocket in the palm of his paw. He rolled on his back, smiled evilly at them, and said, “All of these advances in science and technology and none of you idiots can figure out if you’ve fired your rifles or not. Great job, nimrods!”

The wily samurai drew his blade once again and flew around in a circle, slashing the throats of all eight zookeepers surrounding him. Patrons screamed and dispersed as blood shot up in the skies like Old Faithful. Some of the zookeepers even fell on their own rifles and shot themselves as their corpses went limp.

All that mattered to the blood-soaked Dijas was sitting in a cage with clown makeup on and tears smearing her paint job. The lion wiped a tear from his own eye with his paw and sauntered over to the cage before ripping the bars wide open and letting himself in. He placed a gentle paw on the slack shoulder of Sarah Tonin, who looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes and said, “Go away. I don’t deserve love.”

“Why not?” said Dijas in a sweet voice. “Is it because that’s what people have told you your whole life? Is it because you see no other way to live than by sulking in this cage? This zoo is not your home. Even the coldhearted streets would be better living conditions than this shit hole. This zoo has been home to countless health violations that the government chooses to do nothing about, because they’re too busy imprisoning minorities and apparently animals too. I know this because I too had my self-esteem ripped away by this cruel system. I didn’t belong anywhere simply because of who I am. Society wanted to lock me up for good. I had to fight for my freedom, just like you have to fight for yours. If you’re looking for love, look no further than me.”

Dijas gave Sarah a sweethearted smile and hugged her with all of his animal warmth. He even rubbed his mane against her face like a domestic kitty would. He also purred like a lawnmower in her ear, allowing a small grin to form on her face. Even with shackles on, Sarah managed to hug Dijas around the neck and cry softly into his fur. “Please get these chains off of me!” she begged, to which the lion smiled at her and with one powerful rip tore the shackles like paper.

Their moment of love was interrupted by the sounds of boots pounding the pavement and rifles clicking off in the distance. Sarah grabbed a wooden staff in the corner of her cage, smiled even wider at Dijas, and said, “Thank you so much for the love you’ve given me. I won’t forget you. But if we’re going down, we’ll meet our fates together.”

The two warriors hugged each other one last time before the one of the reinforcements shouted, “There they are! Shoot them!” The lion and the “freak” nodded together and drew their weapons with the intent of going down with a blaze of glory. In no uncertain terms, Sarah Tonin shouted, “Die, motherfuckers, die!” before shattering the bones of zookeepers left and right with her staff. Dijas roared like the mega beast he was as he slashed at anyone who moved (except for Sarah) with both his lion claws and his katana.


The two renegades didn’t know when death would take them or how violently it would happen. But as long as they were going to hell together, Dijas and Sarah would drag a few souls down with them. Blood, bones, and organs splattered across the floor of the wildlife park as more zookeepers rushed in on the scene to meet their splatterpunk deaths. For the first time in a long time, Dijas and Sarah were happier than pigs in shit. Hell, they were already rolling around in shit anyways in the form of zookeepers, so they might as well enjoy the ride.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Born to Die

“Clear your mind. Let your thoughts flow from you like water. Be as still as the mountains.” India Malakar heard every peaceful mantra ever told by his martial arts masters. Even so, none of these calming chants could keep his blood from boiling or his mind from exploding. His fists were clenched with anger, his teeth bit down hard, and his eyes were full of emotional fire. He didn’t look like a serious monk at that point, but his teenaged years were evident in the lack of wisdom his pose showed.

Then again, since he was standing right outside the entrance of the Jackrabbit Marine Bar with drunken mercenaries laughing their asses off, it was hard to remain cool. These same mercenaries implanted thoughts in India’s brain of them burning his village to the ground while asking where the hell their protection money was. The Born To Die Mercenary Guild may have been protectors at one point, but money was their only creed and humanity was in short supply.

India tried to push the angry thoughts of violent retribution from his mind. He tried to forget the traumatic ghost that filled his thoughts with fiery huts, bloody corpses, and laughing soldiers. The harder he pushed them down, the stronger they came back up. A wiser monk would have made peace with even the closest memories of the past. India was barely out of high school and wisdom wasn’t his best feature. His fists, feet, elbows, and knees, on the other hand, looked like they were ready to do some ass kicking. The pissed off monk took a deep breath in and out (as if it would actually calm him down) and entered the bar without a second thought.

The Born To Die squadron was in full force at the Jackrabbit Marine Bar. With spike armored, camouflage clothed, and rifle-wielding mercenaries cheering her on, the leader of this pact, a giantess of a woman named Jill Henderson, was chugging a glass of beer that was so tall it came up to her waistline. Despite the ample volume of alcoholic liquid, Jill chugged it all like a dam busting open down her throat. The mercenaries cheered as she slammed the tall glass on the bar and ordered the bartender to pour her another one.

Except the bartender wasn’t focused on Jill Henderson’s drinking habits. He was focused on India Malakar’s rage and age. Everyone went silent and stared at the young monk when the horseshoe-pattern haired barkeep said, “Hey there, little guy. Are you sure you’re supposed to be in here? This place is for grownups, not for little kids. So take your skinny ass outside. We don’t want you here.”

Instead of doing as he was told, India shouted at the mercenaries in swear words that were from a foreign language. Nobody could make out what he was saying, so out of sheer ignorance, they laughed at his attempt at hurling insults.

Jill shoved her beer glass off the counter and let it crash to the floor (the bartender couldn’t give two shits about it). She slowly approached the tight-muscled, sash-wearing monk and leaned her massive frame down to his level. She then proceeded to insult India in her own made up racist language when she said, “Aso, aso, aso! Ching-chong teriyaki! Yuki-yuki sooki! Cawpet munchah!” Her “comedy” got a good laugh from her compatriots.

The one person who wasn’t amused was India, who threw a hard slap across Jill’s face with the mercenaries “oooing” in the background. Despite the loud impact, the slap didn’t even cause the seven-foot tall mercenary to flinch. She instead smiled her nearly toothless smile at the little kid and said, “Bitch, you’ve got nothing. Absolutely nothing. Here, let me show you how it’s really done.”

In one brutal motion, Jill smacked India across his face so hard that the adolescent warrior was knocked over a table where a mercenary was sitting, who then proceeded to shove him onto the floor. The laughter was even louder and more obnoxious than before.

“Let your actions flow like the river,” said the sagely voice inside India’s head. “Let your enemies come to you. Seek justice, not vengeance. Choose peace over war.” With the kid lying face down on the floor while everyone is laughing at him, it was even harder to allow peaceful justice to take over his mind. This was a stupid idea. India was vastly outnumbered and much weaker than most of the people here.

He tried to crawl on his hands and knees out of the bar, but he felt a stiff boot come down hard on his spine, holding him still and causing him extreme pain at the same time. That boot no doubt belonged to Jill, who stared at the back of India’s head and said, “You ain’t got the balls, son!” The monk then felt beer washing over his pony tailed hair and suffocating him at the same time. And then more annoying laughter boomed over the bar.

Jill grabbed India by the scruff of his neck and threw him out onto the street with such force that he rolled several feet. “And stay out!” yelled the giantess warrior before getting back to her night of partying.

With India lying in a pile of garbage bags and newspapers, this would have been the perfect time to tap out and cry the night away. Wallowing in self pity and mourning the loss of his villagers and family seemed reasonable considering it was one versus all from the very beginning.

But then a strange feeling came over Mr. Malakar. The trash bags he was lying in happened to be stuffed full of shredded paper from an office building, which felt remotely like his own comfortable bed. This feeling of softness took him back to his childhood years when peace, love, and understanding were easier to achieve. Drinking his mother’s milk, playing around with his father, getting pushed in a wheelbarrow by his older brother…and then the feeling of harmony washed over him once more.

“Are you still here?” said a mocking female voice. India slowly opened his eyes to see Jill Henderson towering over him with her fists clenched and brows furrowed. The monk must have been passed out for hours, because the sun was now underneath the horizon and the moon and stars were out.

Despite the rude awakening, India still had that feeling of calm wash over him from sleeping in softness. His calmness would be tested once more when Jill pulled out the rifle that was slung over her shoulders and cocked it with the intention of finishing off the stalwart monk.

“You know something, my little Kung Pao chicken shit?” said Jill. “I haven’t had this much fun toying with someone in a long time. Usually when me and my men are out on a mission, we have to kill a whole bunch of moronic civilians before we have any fun burning shit to the ground. But now playtime has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Now that your pathetic villagers are rotting in the ground, I just have one question for you, little man. Where do you want me to shoot you: in the head or in the chest? Maybe I’ll blast your tiny dick off first.”

Jill expected that string of insults to rile up the little teenager. Instead he smiled the most beautiful smile his overly whitened teeth allowed. India said in a calm and cool voice, “You don’t understand, Miss Henderson. I don’t need vengeance. I need justice.” With one well-placed kick, he snapped Jill’s leg in half and caused her to accidentally fire her rifle in the air. The surprised mercenary dropped to the ground clutching her torn knee and screaming in agony.

India slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He looked around and saw that the other mercenaries in the Jackrabbit Marine Bar had gone home for the day. This couldn’t be more perfect. He picked up the rifle off the ground and said, “Only a coward would ever use one of these!” He broke the weapon over his own knee and discarded the remains in the pile of shredded paper where he was sleeping.

Jill’s broken leg was causing her to roar like a wounded bear. She tried to calm herself with quick raspy breaths, but they did nothing to ease the pain. They did allow her enough room to speak, though: “Go ahead! Kill me, you little prick! You got what you wanted! Now do it! Kill my ass!”

India leaned his face into his opponent’s and said, “You’re wrong, Jill. I don’t have what I want. Like I said, I want justice, not vengeance. Killing you would free you from your punishment of having to think about all of those innocent people you’ve murdered, many of them members of my family. I don’t want your life. I want your career and your thoughts!”

India made a peace sign with his first two fingers and then in one fluid motion ripped out both of Jill’s eyes. Her screams and howls were raised a few octaves as her sockets were bleeding profusely and her broken leg was still killing her. India took a look at the eyeballs in his hand with scorn and then squished them in the palm of his hand.

As soon as Jill was able to listen, India had only one thing to say to her: “Your career as a murderer for hire…is over!”

Saturday, December 28, 2013

"Flight" by Sherman Alexie



For those of us who grew up with a difficult past, it’s easy to get lost in the anger and that anger can often beget violence. Such is the case for half-Irish, half-Indian teenager known only as Zits (because of his poor complexion). His Indian father left him when he was just a baby and his mother died of cancer when Zits was only six years old. Ever since then, Zits has been bounced around from foster home to foster home with nothing but rage boiling inside of him. The burning hot anger gets too be too much and with the guidance of another troubled youth only named Justice, Zits comes within moments of shooting up a bank full of strangers. Before he can actually pull the trigger, the Indian youngster gets sent back to various moments in time in which the people he inhabits had to make violent choices as well, from nineteenth century Indian warriors to corrupt FBI agents. In each of these moments, Sherman Alexie is doing what a book critic once said he did all along, which was break our hearts and make us laugh at the same time. The laughter comes from the pop culture references and snappy dialogue, all of which coming from the narrative mind of Zits. The heartbreak takes the form of various deaths and tragedies that the people Zits wakes up as had to endure. Killing another human being isn’t nearly as easy as our angry consciences make it out to be. Yes, we can be angry enough to punch someone out or shoot someone into oblivion, but after the fact, it becomes hard to live with. Committing violent acts isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. It’s not relieving. It’s not therapeutic. It’s hurtful. Pain begets pain. Anger begets more anger. Blood doesn’t wash away no matter how much dish soap you use to scrub your hands with. Only a cold-blooded mercenary could ever live with himself after committing murder. Zits is not a cold-blooded mercenary. He’s just a kid who was dealt a crappy hand. And now he’s imagining dealing a crappy hand to complete strangers in return. The blood, the tears, the heartache, is it all worth it? If it’s still worth it to you after you read Flight by Sherman Alexie, you missed the point entirely. Life isn’t an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. It’s not even a Jason Statham movie. It’s a cycle of violence that tears away at us until there’s nothing left. Think about that for a minute, if you have the stomach for it.

 

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Shawn Michaels claims to be this great Christian who loves everybody and then he goes out and shoots innocent animals with a high-powered rifle.”

-Jim Cornette-