Jerry Frost Is the Colonel Sanders of Jim Roots

We’ve all had days where we were out of fettle. Getting out of bed couldn’t be harder if you were cuffed to the fucking thing. Even the act of ordering fast food proved more difficult than cooking a three-course meal yourself. The wintry mix of gray diarrhea and depressive smoke bears down upon you whether you have a roof over your head or not. Wouldn’t it be nice to have somebody to talk to during these difficult moments? Someone who won’t judge you (because your brain does that enough already). Someone who won’t make you talk about things you’re not comfortable with. Someone who can put things into perspective in a way you couldn’t see before (probably because your damp eyelids were too heavy to lift). That someone could very well be licensed art therapist Jerry Frost, one of the few RPG characters I managed to get right.

Okay, so he wasn’t 100% perfect, but who would want that anyways since Gary-Stus are about as appealing as a wet paper towel. But while his portrayal of a psychotherapist was dead-on, his background story could have used a hell of a lot more work than I gave it. His childhood would have given Sigmund Freud a massive stroke (the kind in his brain, not the kind in his jockey shorts, you sick fucks). Jerry’s parents were tough on him as they pushed him towards becoming a STEM guy. He could forget his artistic pursuits and just mix chemicals all day long, because that’s what the wallet wanted. But even Jerry knew that wallets were hungry for more than just Big Pharma money or electrical engineering cheddar. Just like with menus at restaurants, there were many avenues for Jerry to choose from. But his strict parents insisted he become a STEM guy, because that was the wallet’s equivalent of an all-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse.

Jerry had other plans. Mixing chemicals and fusing wires together sounded about as much fun to him as watching dust accumulate on his bookshelf. Why care so much about the dust when there were perfectly good books there with stories of dragons and elves, kings, queens, and themperors, magical diamonds and fiery swords? He could write his own stories. He could draw his own creatures. He could compose acoustic guitar songs about an elven archer’s final shot into the heart of a cannibalistic ogre. He could do it all! But of course, the message of STEM guys being paid handsomely was beaten into his head so much that he had to come up with a nice compromise so that he didn’t get chucked out of the house before he was ready. Jerry Frost would become an art therapist. He still got to explore his creative avenues, but he could satisfy his STEM obligations since psychology is still a science.

So far, so good. He’s got a background story. He’s got motivations. He’s got a psychological edge to him. Now all he needs is a way to pay for college so that he can get that degree and get out there into the world. And he plans on paying for it by…working extra hours at KFC. Why wouldn’t he want to work at KFC? He looks like Jim Root from Slipknot and Jim Root has that beard and hairstyle combo that almost reminded him of Colonel Sanders. Jerry Frost is the Colonel Sanders of Jim Roots. He made a shit-load of fried chicken and served it to the hungriest bellies, all day, every day, until he earned enough to pay for his tuition. There’s just one problem with all of this: in the real world, working at KFC doesn’t pay for shit. Barely surviving in an apartment that costs an arm, a leg, a brain, and a heart is closer to reality than this dream scenario I concocted. It’s a uniquely millennial and Gen Z experience. That is where Jerry’s back story falls apart.

Another way in which it falls apart is through the act of art therapy itself. I didn’t learn this until after the RPG session, but apparently, having art as your most obsessive hobby is dangerous, because once he lose the will and the energy to do that, you’re left with nothing. Absolutely nothing. I felt personally attacked by this revelation (another uniquely millennial and Gen Z idea). As of today, almost everything I do involves creativity in one form or another: writing, reading, drawing, photography, even watching movies has creative merit (media literacy). And once I’m too tired for creativity, then what? Do I just lay around and wait for the feeling to pass? Yes! Jerry Frost probably should have warned his first patient Christian that this was going to happen, but like the chicken he made, his brain was too fried to comprehend such possibilities.

And thus we segue from the back story to the main role-play. Jerry Frost has his office set up just the way he likes: heavy metal posters nailed to the walls, drawings strewn about on his desk, books on a wooden shelf that told stories of epic fantasy battles and space opera death matches, and of course, a marble skull on his desk. Why a marble skull? Does he really need a reason? Yes, some of these decorations sounded too creepy to be in a psychologist’s office. The In This Moment poster with bloody hands sticking up and the Pink Floyd poster with the screaming face come to mind the most. But Christian didn’t seem to give two fucks about that. He was just sitting there on a puke green couch with his head in his hands and a shit-load of anger boiling inside of him. And so Jerry asked him, “What brings you to my office today?”

Obligation. That’s what brought him there. Christian didn’t see the point in coming, only that he had no other choice. Jerry, being the art therapist that he was, recommended some creative activities as a form of free association, or piecing together someone’s psychological makeup through symbols and phrases in the creations. Jerry even recommended rocking out to Sepultura to getting all of that anger out of his system. And then Christian lost it. “NO! I don’t want to rock out to Sepultura! It’s not going to bring her back!” Jerry knew that he fucked up badly. He pushed buttons that he had no business pushing. Any minute, Christian could have walked out of the room and this would mark Jerry’s first failure as a psychologist. And then he asked…

“What do you mean ‘bring her back’?” And suddenly, Jerry was on the right track once again. Christian opened up about how his lover was murdered by her own family. He wanted to get revenge on them through murder of his own, but if he did, he and Jerry would be doing this session from a prison cell that’s scarier than any heavy metal poster-decorated office. There would be no marble skulls in his cell except for the ones shattered on the floor by a dude named Bubba. So instead of murder, Jerry suggested a creative activity once again, this time as a positive outlet for his pain. Yes, drawing pictures didn’t solve everything, but they were something. And wouldn’t you know it, Christian drew a nice picture of his lover with techniques that even surpassed Jerry’s own abilities. Jerry showered him in compliments and earned his trust, while also keeping his job and his license. But the trust and the humanity was more important than a constantly starving wallet.

In the final moments of the role-play, Christian wanted to take Jerry on a field trip to the cemetery to pay respects to the dead girlfriend. But before that scene could come to fruition, the RPG group went dark for the longest time. It didn’t get deleted. It was just…inactive. A ghost town, of sorts. I didn’t know when they were going to be back. I didn’t know what the future held for Jerry Frost. So I left the group without saying goodbye. Do they still think about me to this day? That’s the hope I have with a character like Jerry Frost. I wanted him to have a positive impact on my fellow role-players.

Come to think of it, that’s what I want for myself going forward: to have a positive influence on the people who read my stuff. For years and years now, I’ve been writing stories purely for shock value. Yes, they had a clear-cut narrative with a beginning, middle, and end, but they also had things like torture, rape, pedophilia, and a whole shit-load of disgusting garbage that would never qualify as positive in this or any other world. Some people don’t mind being disturbed, but if that’s all I have going for my stories, then that’s a good way to drive my audience elsewhere. Everybody has their limits when it comes to raunchy content. We all have things that disgust us beyond belief and none of it makes us “snowflakes”. Okay, maybe the people who are asking schools to remove Maus could be considered snowflakes, but that’s beside the point. At least Art Spiegelman had a message. What do I have? Shock! I’ve got shock!

Jerry Frost is one of the few shining examples I have of a character gone right (KFC and art therapy be damned). He didn’t have to be an edge lord. He didn’t have to be vile. He didn’t even have to be overly flawed. Being a gentle and understanding soul was a requirement for the job he took. If it feels like he’s not flawed enough, that’s why. Yes, he did almost cause Christian to storm out of his office when he pushed the art therapy narrative too hard, but that’s only because he’s still a rookie at his profession. Inexperience is a great flaw for a character to have.

So…will I revive the Jerry Frost character in a future RPG? How about a future story? Or a poem? That all depends on whether or not I need a psychologist in any given work. He has potential to be something greater than a flash in the pan. I might have to tweak his back story a little bit, but there’s still hope for him…somewhere in the world…

Bands With Gimmicks

***BANDS WITH GIMMICKS***

I can’t remember the exact year, but Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger once gave an interview where he poked fun at Slipknot for relying on their horror mask gimmicks too much. As much as I love listening to Nickelback, I’m going to strongly disagree with Chad on that one. Who said gimmicks have to be a bad thing? Why can’t bands have fun gimmicks AND fun music. Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor rightfully put Chad Kroeger in his place, saying he has a face like a foot among other topnotch insults. You know the meme, “What does Corey Taylor think of this?” Now you know.

But in all seriousness, what’s wrong with having a gimmick? It’s not just limited to bands, either. Pro-wrestlers have gimmicks. MMA fighters have gimmicks. Artists have gimmicks. Basically, if you take any profession and add a character quirk to it, congratulations, you’ve got one fun-loving motherfucker. A corporate suit with a gimmick? Sure, it can happen. Suppose a corporate stooge walks in the office one day wearing a Slipknot mask and blasting “People = Shit” from his smart phone. I’d want to hang out with that guy all day long!

Having a character trait of some kind doesn’t detract from the actual profession. In fact, as a writer, I encourage it in my characters. I want to write about abnormal characters with creepy face paint. I want to write about elven warriors with superhero costumes. I want to write about highway drifters who dress like Prince. If there was ever a time to talk about three-dimensional characters, a fun and goofy gimmick could be one of those many dimensions.

But let’s get back to the topic at hand, which is about musical acts who use gimmicks in their art. Chad Kroeger can be as bland and vanilla as he wants, but gimmicked bands have been around since rock and roll was even a thing. Pink Floyd could be considered a gimmick band, especially with the many trademarks surrounding their act. The putty faced masks, the floating pig, the rainbow prism, the ass judge, basically, anything from The Wall could be considered a part of Pink Floyd’s gimmick. They made an entire movie out of that album, so who says gimmicks don’t mean anything? By the way, that movie is one of my favorites of all time, not just as a musical, but as a full-fledged story about a man going absolutely bat-shit crazy.

You know who else has a gimmick to go along with their music? Ghost. Their lead singer dresses in a Pope outfit and has creepy paint all over his face. His band mates wear black robes and demonic masks. Their presentation has satanic symbols all over the stage, which reflects a lot of their lyrical content. Ghost is a fun band to listen to and see live, which I’m about to figure out for myself this coming September when they come to Seattle. Yeeeeeeee!

Any other bands with gimmicks? Babymetal has an anime gimmick. Starset has a space opera gimmick. Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson both have horror movie and satanic gimmicks. Not only do these bands look awesome in concert, but they also produce high quality music to boot. So again, what’s wrong with a musician having a character trait? Anybody? Can anyone answer this without sounding more vanilla and ignorant than Chad Kroeger? Maybe Bill Maher would like to weigh in on this topic. Just kidding, we already know he’s a boring person!

So what kind of gimmick would you like to see in your own characters? A skull-decorated necromancer? A heavily-tattooed alien warrior? A fiendish goblin with a fiery dagger? The possibilities are as endless as your own imagination. But not all characters in your stories have to have gimmicks. They don’t have to be elaborate, especially if they’re passive side characters who don’t add a whole lot to the story. That’s okay.

But if your character drives the entire story, he’d better be interesting in some way. He doesn’t have to have pentagrams tattooed all over his pale body, but he does need to capture your reader’s attention and hold onto that motherfucker for the rest of the story. While gimmicks aren’t always necessary, they shouldn’t be shrugged off so easily by the conformists of the world. In fact, I’d dare say we need a…corrosion of conformity! See what I did there?

I know you all are waiting for me to give examples from my own writing of gimmicked characters (you totally aren’t). So here they are. Beautiful Monster’s main villainess is femme fatale with a libertarian business model and a penchant for vanilla ice cream. Beautiful Monster’s main hero is an elven warrior who worships a lion god and lashes the shit out of his opponents with a chain whip. Incelbordination’s main villain is a Matrix parody who complains about not getting laid and exacts vengeance with a machete and brainwashed followers. Incelbordination’s main hero is a dwarf with a boxing background and plenty of angry reasons to use his fists. Need more examples? Here’s one…

From 2016 to 2017, I wrote a first draft novel called Demon Axe, a chosen one narrative about a titular heavy metal band with a dark fantasy gimmick. They wear robes on stage, they wear creepy masks, they drink bubbling potions before they perform, they have satanic symbols everywhere, and the lead singer’s microphone looks like a war hatchet. This story only a shitty first draft and it’ll be a while before I take it to critiqueville, but I’m proud of it all the same. Plus, Demon Axe brings us back to the original topic of this blog entry being about musical acts. Yay!

Got any fascinating gimmicks you want to talk about? I’m all ears! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another gimmick right there! That sign-off phrase is from a horror anthology called Tales From the Dark Side! Nice!

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WOLVERINE: Aren’t you going to tell me to stay away from your girl?

CYCLOPS: If I had to do that, she wouldn’t be my girl.

WOLVERINE: Well, then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about…Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: I bet it just burns you up inside that a boy like me had to save you. You’d better be careful. I might not be there next time. Oh, and Logan? Stay away from my girl.

-X-Men-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Yes, Wolverine and Cyclops are both gimmicked characters. They’re not only superheroes, but they’re awesome to watch on screen.

The Real World: Anime

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You want to win the war? Know what you’re fighting for!”

-Slipknot singing “Custer”-

***THE REAL WORLD: ANIME***

Remember a few blog entries ago how I asked you, my lovely audience, how you can tell the difference between what’s worth defending and what’s worth surrendering? Well, the same can be said for any kind of dispute whether it’s with yourself or other people. It’s all about risk vs. reward. But in order to achieve this goal, you have to absolutely know what it is you’re fighting for, just like Slipknot says in that song. If it’s a political climate, what are you trying to accomplish: convincing an unwilling debate opponent to see things another way or convincing an entire congress to do the right thing?

When I was a teenager, I took no interest in politics, so I waged my wars over the next best thing: internet disputes. I fought over everything whether it was worth the risk or not. If anything, I was fighting over a bruised ego and I was obsessed with making my offender pay. It’s not like telling someone off over a computer screen is going to change anything, but my teenaged self didn’t have the wisdom to know that. Thus we have one of my most notorious internet disputes, The Real World: Anime.

From 2001 to 2004 and again in 2005, I was a rabidly zealous member of Play By Web, a text-based RPG site where users could set up message boards based on genre or gaming system whether it’s sci-fi, D&D, Vampire: the Masquerade, etc. I have no idea what possessed me to join The Real World: Anime, because I hadn’t seen one episode of The Real World to know what the hell was going on. I guess I joined because I was an anime nut and really into shows like the Gundam series and Cowboy Bebop.

I take the role of Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop and role-played him within the confines of this game. My posts were only a few sentences long and they didn’t quite live up to the Spike Spiegel character, to be honest. Sarah, one of the admins for that group, sent me a private message asking me to play him better, because the co-admin was a lot tougher than her with regard to rules and regulations.

Rational-thinking adult Garrison would have said, “No problem!” and did the right thing. But hormonal teenager Garrison, complete with a hair-trigger temper, fired the first shot in what would be an uphill verbal war between myself and the admins. My opening line? “You’re damn right I’m pissed off!” I can’t remember how the middle of the rant went, but it ended with, “You’re not going to fucking toy with me!”

Can you believe we actually came to a peaceful resolution to that argument? I actually apologized to the admins! But then Under Siege, Pt. 2 came weeks later when the admins banned me from the game for being too out of character with my portrayal of Spike Spiegel. I basically portrayed him as a jumpy weird ass who listened to Al Green rather than a smooth-talker who listened to Yoko Kanno. That was the end of my run, but not the end of the war.

Instead of being nice and taking the high road, I told the tougher of the two admins to go fuck herself after a long rant detailing how her criticisms were lies and her tough love was just an excuse to be nasty. Also, being the brave and steadfast guy I was, I told her I wouldn’t be reading any more posts from the thread I used to rant against her. That was the public forum way of blocking her from posting more messages.

So let’s see what all of this online vitriol actually accomplished. I was still banned from the game, the admins didn’t change their viewpoints, and I still sucked at playing Spike Spiegel from a fan’s perspective. I fought a war based on a bruised ego and it ended badly. Sarah and tough-chick: 1, Garrison: 0. Slipknot’s prophetic lyrics for “Custer” wouldn’t come for another thirteen years, but it’s not like I would have listened anyways except for the heavy beats.

I would go on to pick more online fights in the 2000’s and I would lose every single one of them. No realistic goals, no strategy, all offence, and no defense. Sometimes it’s important to just let things go. That’s what I’m doing now that we’re in the 2010’s and I’m at peace because of it. Imagine that: life becomes less stressful when you don’t argue over stupid shit. If you’re going to argue over something, net neutrality and tax overhaul are good places to start, so as long as your vocabulary isn’t limited to words that have “tard” in them. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Speaking of uncomfortable trips into my past, the next Dark Fantasy Warrior to be drawn is Jacob Kruger from my messiest first draft novel to this day, Filter Feeder. He’s a clam fisherman with his weapon of choice being a big ass metal anchor. How he manages to carry that into battle and use it efficiently is a fucking miracle. I guess his muscles really are that big. Goddamn, I’ve got a lot of muscle-bound guys in my stories!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

I guess all of those “Write every day!” memes on Face Book are really starting to sink in, because I already have an idea for the next short story: “Brandi”. It goes like this:

CHARACTER:

1. Dustin Faulk, Lonely Bachelor
2. Adele Faulk, Dustin’s Sister
3. Brandi, Sex Doll

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: After finishing college and getting engaged, Adele visits her older brother Dustin to share the news with him and catch up on old times. When she shows up at his apartment, he’s sitting on the couch with an inflatable sex doll named Brandi as a surrogate girlfriend. Adele holds off on the engagement announcement and instead tries to convince Dustin to find a real girlfriend since his behavior is “depressing”. Dustin likes Brandi because she isn’t capable of saying no to him. Rejection is a major source of frustration for Dustin when he tries to court “real women”. When he learns of Adele’s engagement and general life success, he becomes even more withdrawn into his single life microcosm.

FUN FACT: The last name Faulk isn’t meant to be a modified version of the F-word. It’s just a coincidence. I swear on my mother’s grave even though she’s still alive. Hehe!

My Feelings

***MY FEELINGS***

I got to see Jason Mewes (Jay from the View Askewniverse) perform a hilarious Q&A session the other night in Tacoma. Lots of sex jokes. Lots and lots of sex jokes. So many sex jokes that I laughed like a James Bond villain because of them (much to Jason’s delight). As much fun as I had that night and as awesome as it was to meet Jason Mewes and take pictures with him, that’s not what this journal is about (though yes, my brother and I had a great time that night).

During the car ride home, my brother James asked me a very profound question that I blew off as being asinine: “What goes through your head when you have a certain experience?” He elaborated by saying that I respond to even the most amazing things in life by saying, “It was fine” in a monotone voice. Part of his comedic rant was that I could be at the bottom of the Himalayas or having sex with a younger version of Cameron Diaz (or doing both at the same time), and all I would have to say is, “It was fine.” James then talked about the time he worked hard cooking a salmon steak with the right amount of herbs, spices, and sauces and all I said once I was done eating it was, “It was fine.”

There are many reasons why I don’t talk about my true feelings. One reason could be that it’s a male thing and since I have a penis and two testicles, I fall under that category. The other reason is that talking about my feelings leaves me exposed to whoever I’m talking to. Sure, I could just give James the proper critique for something as simple as a salmon steak, but even that moment of positivity could open the door for him or other people to ask about the darker parts of my emotions.

Talking about the darker side of my emotions isn’t easy for me because, as a schizophrenic, I have to relive those moments again and feel like shit afterwards. Living with my mom’s ex-boyfriend Art, getting bullied in high school, and being lonely at Western Washington University are all off-limits topics for me. The less I talk about dark emotions, the better I will feel mentally.

For the sake of this journal, I will talk about an emotional experience I had that was more than just “fine” or “whatever”. Consider this your one and only invite into my mind. If you see me in real life and you want to talk about it some more, forget it. Not happening. Even now, I have butterflies in my tummy, and this is just writing about it.

In 2016, I went to see Slipknot in concert for the second time in my life. One of my favorite songs that they played that evening was “Killpop”. If you Google the lyrics, you’ll see that they contain themes of psychotic love and sexual frustration (even though the song is about something completely different).

I loved this song so much that I sang along with it in my loudest, most passionate voice possible. In that moment, I could forget all about being a sexual has-been and a 30-something virgin. In my senior year of high school, I looked like a goddamn stud muffin with my leather jacket, sunglasses, thin body, and badass haircut. I had women flirting with me from all angles and even had cyber sex (yes, I know it’s just masturbating to a computer screen, but it was still enjoyable, so shut up). And then I had schizophrenia. The disease itself made me act crazy and the medication made me gain over a hundred pounds. Goodbye sexy Garrison, hello Uncle Creepy.

It seems shallow-minded to have that be a source of pain for me, especially since people are willing to give you the worldwide disaster argument over and over again (“people in Africa have it worse than you do, there are hurricanes everywhere, blah, blah, blah”). I’ve had a taste of love and I want it again, but I’m also aware that this 300 lb. body isn’t fit for such things. Therefore, when I sang “Killpop” in my most passionate voice, I could forget all of that and give a metaphorical middle finger to anybody who doubts my likeability. Ironically, when the song was over, a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat kissed the back of my hand in approval. I never got that girl’s phone number or email address, but it was probably for the best.

There you go, folks. That’s my emotional experience. Now I’m locking the doors in my mind and you’re never getting back in. If you want to know how I’m doing today, I’m doing just “fine”. Today was actually a good day for me. The past four days have been exhausting because I was angry about mopping up my dog Maggie’s shit and piss. Today I didn’t burst into a hodgepodge of swear words and I was able to use that energy to write a short story called “Witch Hunt”, read 30 pages of “Paper Towns”, and draw a picture of Fatima Ruiz (a gangster from another short story called “How Could You?”). Imagine that: fiery anger can be tiring as hell! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

As I just told you, Witch Hunt is in the books, so now it’s time for another short story. This is another old one called “Lionize” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Dargoth Destroyer, Human Barbarian

2.      Zeal Cottonwood, Zombie Giant

3.      Andrea Lovell, CEO of Lionize Corporation

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Andrea’s corporation specializes in deadly arena combat as public entertainment. Dargoth and Zeal are in her latest pay-per-view main event after both of them went undefeated for such a long time. All combatants who work for Andrea are locked in an ironclad contract with promises of a high payday and threats of a lawsuit if they’re in violation. Dargoth, who desperately wants to get out of his contract, attempts to assassinate Miss Lovell during his match with Zeal.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

And now that we’re on the topic of Lionize, my next Dark Fantasy Warrior will actually be a fantasy-themed fighter! Imagine that! He’s Dargoth Destroyer and he’s, you guessed it, another beefy barbarian! He won’t be a Gary-Stu, though. Maybe. I’m not sure yet.

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

REINA: What did you do productively today?

ME: Stuff.

REINA: What kind of stuff?

ME: Just stuff.

REINA: Garrison! That’s not a real answer!

ME: (Whiny groan.)

Dark Side of the Wall

Every chant of his last name sent a biblical flood of adrenaline through Ryan Warrior’s veins. He stood backstage with his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his painted up face a shield of rage, and his leather jacket a suit of armor for this musical war. The dimly lit stage splashed purple and red on the violent faces of the heavy metal crowd. All that could be heard aside from the crowd’s excitement was the ethereal music created by fast-paced war drums and the haunting wooden flute. As the war drum pounded louder in the ears of all, the shouts and screams became more deafening and more motivating to Ryan Warrior.

With the grinding, heavy sounds of an electric guitar, bass guitar, and drum kit to guide his way, Ryan marched out to the stage and was met with a thunderous ovation. They gave him a battle, he would return with a war. He snatched the microphone off of its stand and shouted, “What’s up, Ghost River Amphitheater?! You want some heavy ass metal?! One! Two! Chainsaw Samurai!”

The drum kit and war drums players dueled with each other. The guitar and bass players banged their long locks and bounced around the stage. The flute player calmly let out another wave of ghost music. And Ryan? He jumped up and down along with his audience, rowdy as they were.

With a throaty, demonic scream, he shouted, “Forget about your fucking dishonor / And focus on your eventual slaughter / Which one of your limbs must go first? / Your arms, legs, or German bratwurst? / Slice off your head, a mummified trophy / He opens your mouth and says, “Blow me!” / A bloodbath is coming from the Rising Sun / Violence and gore became a shit-load of fun!”

The raw passion of the outdoor crowd could be seen with every shove, every throw, every drop of blood, and every bruise. To get out of this mosh pit alive and well would be a miracle rivaling Jesus Christ himself. It was all fun and games until Ryan Warrior stopped bouncing and head banging. He looked out into certain areas of the crowd with disgust on his face, like he had just smelled raw sewage. “Stop the music! Stop the goddamn music! Guys, enough! I got something to say!”

Once the band discontinued their music, the crowd erupted into a fiery roar with volcanic passion and their bruised fists in the skies. Ryan’s disgusted face turned to a deathly scowl as he shouted into the microphone, “Are you guys fucking stupid or what?!” Like the bunch of idiots they were, the audience cheered at that rhetorical question.

“I look around at this crowd and I don’t see metal heads. I see grown ass men groping teenaged girls. I see little kids getting their heads smashed in. Hell, I just caught one of you assholes shooting off a rocket at my guitarist! You nearly hit him in the fucking face! What is wrong with you people?!” No more fiery passion from the crowd, only boos. Whether those boos were directed at the sociopathic audience members or Ryan Warrior was unknown, but the oratory continued.

“You know what? I’m starting to understand why Roger Waters built the wall! I trust you all know who the hell he is! He was the driving force behind a band called Pink Floyd, a band I have a lot of respect for! And right now, I feel like building a wall between you guys and my band! Boo all you want, but it ain’t wrong if that’s how I feel! Go ahead! Boo! Boo like a bunch of babies!” Ask and ye shall receive. The flying beer bottle that pinged off of Ryan’s shoulder was a bonus that sent the Native American into a nightmarish frenzy.

“Where the hell are the goddamn bouncers?!” he screamed. “How come nobody is trying to remove these guys?! I see neo-Nazis over here doing their thing! I see a teenaged girl trying to get away from you morons! Seriously, where the hell is security?! Where the hell is alcohol enforcement?! Why are the goddamn cops just sitting around munching on donuts?! I’ll tell you what, dip shits! If you keep this crap up, you’re not getting a show tonight! You haven’t shown me that you deserved one! You know what? To hell with it! I’m going backstage and I’m going to have a banana daiquiri! Screw you bastards! Screw this show! I don’t need this crap! I’m out of here!”

Ryan dropped his microphone with a resounding thud and walked backstage with his brethren, flipping off the booing crowd as he exited. The tour bus was in the back parking lot ready to roll on to the next town, which was hopefully less criminal-minded than this one at the Ghost River Amphitheater. The boos and reckless behavior out in the crowd caused Ryan to clutch his head in pain as he took a seat next to the mini-fridge. While his band mates disappeared behind the dressing room door, Mr. Warrior pulled a banana daiquiri out of the fridge and formed a small smile on his face knowing his night would at least end on a high note.

“Ryan! What the hell are you doing?! You’ve got a show to play, damn it! Don’t do this to me!” shouted his manager, a pudgy, balding, olive-skinned fellow in a gray suit who was flailing his arms as he shouted.

The singer tossed aside his bottle and stood up to look his manager square in the eyes. “Do you not see what’s going on out there? They’re acting like animals! I’ve played rowdy crowds before, but these guys are turning this concert into a goddamn prison riot! Where the hell are the bouncers? Do they not give a damn what’s going on out there?!”

Pointing a sausage finger at him, the manager said, “So that’s it? You’re going to give up on your dream because you don’t like what’s going on out there? Yes, you’ve played wild crowds before, but this ain’t no small piss-ant nightclub! This is the big time! You can’t back down from a crowd that size just because the security detail doesn’t swoop in right away! They’re not the Justice League, for Christ’s sake! Hell, they’re probably busy with parts of the crowd you can’t even see from the front stage!”

“Is that really what being a rock star is all about? Hanging around with a bunch of criminals? Having people shoot fireworks at you? What a bunch of crap!” said Ryan.

“You’re right! It is crap! But it also comes with the territory! Yes, there are a bunch of wild and crazy idiots right now who are probably being dragged away in handcuffs! But there are even more people out there who paid good money to see you perform! By walking off stage, you’re not only spiting the drunken jerks, but you’re also slapping the faces of the true fans! Do you want your true fans to remember you as the guy who quit in the face of criticism? If they think you’re getting soft for one minute, that’s the end of your career, buddy! And it’s a career that barely got off the ground! It’ll be over before it begins! Welcome to heavy metal, Ryan! Or I could welcome you to the unemployment line, how about that? It’s up to you, big guy. What’s it going to be?”

Breathing deeply and shakily, the seething Ryan Warrior glared into the eyes of his manager and said, “If that’s your way of psyching me up and getting me to earn my paycheck…” Mid-speech, he pulled a feathered hatchet out of his leather jacket and grinned at it like a psychopath. “I’m going to collect interest from these motherfuckers!”

In a calm and collected manner, the manager asked in a semi-whiny voice, “Ryan? What are you doing with that thing?”

Leaning his slasher villain face into the manager’s, Ryan said, “You’ll see. You think I’m soft? You think I’m cowardly enough to run away from the biggest dream I’ve ever had?” He shouted, “Do you think I’m stupid enough to walk away from a big payday?! Do you?! You can put all the stipulations in the contract you want, but no matter who the record label is, this is my show and I’m going to burn it to the ground!”

The manager backpedaled in pants-wetting fear as he shakily sat next to the mini-fridge. Ryan grinned and shouted at the dressing room in a feral voice, “Guys! We’re going to give the audience our…special treat!” The band mates exited the dressing room laughing viciously and sending the manager into even more violent shivers. The entire band walked passed him with villainous grins on their faces while the manager weakly asked, “What’s the hatchet for?”

The audience cheered and roared like bloodthirsty lions at the reappearance of Ryan Warrior and his band. As the lead singer slowly picked up his microphone and breathed in a raspy voice into the device, he swirled his tongue around his lips as he saw the undesirables being dragged away by security and law enforcement. Neo-Nazis were being pulled out of the arena by their legs. Child molesters were being dragged by their thick hairy arms. Drunkards staggered and fell on their way to the bus stop. While there may be some cretins left behind, the unmistakable chants of Ryan’s last name were music to his ears.

Ryan glared at the hatchet in his hand and said in a monstrous voice, “You see this? I carry this into battle with me every damn day of the week. It brings me more than just good luck. It brings me pleasure. It brings me pain. It brings me…bloodlust!” On that last line, he licked the flat end of his blade like it was his lover. “But if you think I’m so pissed off that I’m going to carve up a bunch of drunken idiots and join them in prison, you’re dead wrong. I’m not throwing away anything for those assholes, certainly not my dream, certainly not my life. Instead…I have a message from a little band from Iowa called Slipknot.”

The “true fans” shouted their approval at the name drop and raised their bloodied fists to the skies. Ryan continued his demonic speech with, “Mr. Corey Taylor couldn’t make it tonight. He sends his apologies. He also sends a very poignant message to everybody here who ruined your evenings by acting like mindless thugs. Nah, I take that back. Your evenings are far from ruined by those jerks. Our night of heavy metal is just getting started. It’s going to continue with a little Slipknot song that everybody here can relate to. It’s called…People = Shit!” With the fans riled up and ready to rock, the stage pyrotechnics burst into flames and the music was far from dead. Heavy metal will never die.

Demon Axe

***DEMON AXE***

I see all of my writer friends publishing novels left and right and it makes me wonder what I’m doing sitting on my ass. The last time I wrote a novel, summer in 2015 was coming to an end and the story was a psychological fantasy called “Watch You Burn”. Ever since then, it remained a first draft and I had devoted my attention to other projects, such as the WSS contests, editing the shit out of “Occupy Wrestling”, and editing the shit out of “Poison Tongue Tales”. And then I had real life obstacles getting in the way such as sleep apnea, concerts, and exhausting housework. Wherever could I find the time to write a novel these days? Do I truly have to wait until November a.k.a. NaNoWriMo?

The correct answer is not only no, but hell no. I used to pump out novels like an assembly line back in my younger years. They were shitty novels, but they were novels nonetheless. So what pray tell is keeping me from writing a novel in today’s world? Absolutely nothing. Those other creative projects can be done side-by-side with my novel and it wouldn’t affect my energy levels. It’s been a full year since “Watch You Burn” and now it’s time to get some shit done.

In the same way that “Occupy Wrestling” lionizes pro-wrestling and “Watch You Burn” supports people with mental illnesses, this new novel idea, “Demon Axe”, will lionize heavy metal. When you get right down to it, those are the three tropes I live with the most: wrestling, metal, and schizophrenia. Such a wonderful combination! So here it is, ladies and gentlemen: a character list and synopsis for what will be called “Demon Axe”:

MAIN CHARACTERS:

Daniel Mercer, Heavy Metal Singer

Shawn Henry, Police Detective

Raven Triscloud, Elf Warrior

King Triscloud, Elf Leader

Roger Zee, Elf Zealot

Johnny Vega, Giant Wrestler

Sonia Marquez, MMA Fighter

SYNOPSIS: Daniel and his band Demon Axe play a show on an open field that is believed to be holy ground for elves. Not believing the legends, the band goes ahead with the show anyways and encourages the wrath of Roger Zee, a machete-wielding elf who slashes the audience members to pieces. While Shawn Henry tries to investigate, Daniel is visited in the late hours of the night by Raven. Raven wants his help in hunting down Roger and putting him back in his tomb. Daniel confesses that the band name Demon Axe and their onstage dark fantasy gimmicks are just for show and he’s not a real warrior. Raven doesn’t believe him.

If you’ve seen the name Raven Triscloud before, it’s because she was a character in a D&D campaign back in 2010. I’ve asked Heather (the original owner of that character) if it was okay to use her in a story and she said yes. I tried to recycle her into a dark fantasy novel called “Fireball Nightmare”, but that story was too Gary-Stu and Mary-Sue infested. Hopefully, Demon Axe will be a better fit for her.

Spoiler alert: there’s going to be a sex scene in this novel. Not just any sex scene, but an ANGRY sex scene. I’ve often wondered if people really do have angry sex with each other. It seemed legitimate after I went to a Three Days Grace concert and Matt Walst asked the audience pointblank, “Have you ever fucked somebody you hate?!” The audience erupted into cheers after that, so I guess angry sex is a real thing.

I have two other novel ideas that are planned out from beginning to end: a debt collection drama called “Debt of Pain” (naturally) and an animal fantasy called “LuNacho” (named after two stray cats who eventually went to the Humane Society named Luna and Nacho). Demon Axe appeals to me the most right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m casting those other two ideas aside so easily.

Because I want Demon Axe to be a full-fledged novel and not a shortie like “Occupy Wrestling” ended up being, it will have to conform to the 40,000 word quota. That means all twenty chapters of this novel will have to be at least 2,000 words long, which is 500 more than what I’m used to writing with chapters and short stories alike. It’s going to be a challenge, but I know full well that if I keep writing within my comfort zone, I’m never going to get anywhere.

Wish me luck, faithful readers. Keep your devil horns up in the air for my boys Demon Axe!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Dovald ended up scaring the shit out of my mother when I showed my drawing of him to her. If she thought a bulky dark paladin with creepy face paint was something to behold, she’s never met Tara Greenlee. Tara is a demonic hallucination from the short story “Dancing with Mary Jane” who torments two corrupt cops to the point of insanity. Tara Greenlee is basically Guillermo Batista from “The Balrog” on steroids. Watch out for this bloodthirsty monster!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You can’t see California without Marlon Brando’s eyes!”

-Slipknot singing “Eyeless”-

Robotic Junkyard

***ROBOTIC JUNKYARD***

Just like with the Necrocosm, the Robotic Junkyard will be another opportunity for creative fuel, whether you’re a writer yourself or an artist of another genre. Really, this blog entry is just an excuse to give you updates on my life, but as long as I’m flapping my gums, I might as well give you a prompt suggestion. You could write a whole novel or short story around it. You could paint a picture of it. You could completely ignore it. No matter what you choose, I’m keeping the buffet table of creative food for thought open all night. You can come back for seconds, thirds, and maybe even the dessert version of food for thought.

The idea of a robotic junkyard isn’t new, but it’s also something I’ve only seen one time and I’d like to see it more often. In other words, it’s highly underrated for all of the potential it could have. I think it was Mega Man 7 for the Super Nintendo that had a boss enemy called Junk Man. His stage was the robotic junkyard and the gimmick was basically throwing mechanical parts at Mega Man until he was junk himself. Morph Moth from Mega Man X2 might have also had a robotic junkyard for a stage, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure.

Either way, getting mechanical robot parts thrown at you doesn’t feel very good, or so I’m told. Imagine getting clocked upside the head by a flying hubcap. Maybe a flying saw blade would be worse. Maybe a broken down machine will come to life and beat your ass into nuts and bolts. And this is just the overhead level. Once you get underground, then the metal parts will really start to fly. I could have just as easily said, “The shit really starts to hit the fan,” because that would be just as accurate.

I experimented with these ideas back in 2011 when I wrote a novelette called “Thunder Ballz”. Yes, you read that correctly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about that. It was a hybrid of Dragon Ball Z and Mega Man X written by a member of Generation Y. I just used X, Y, and Z in the same sentence. High five! Anyways, this novelette read more like a game of Mega Man X with the number of different places the characters went to and how they defeated their chief enemies in short order. One of the places was a robotic junkyard and the boss battle ended when the upper level of junk came crashing down on the villain. Ouch! That’s a lot of goddamn metal! More metal than the Pain in the Grass concert I’m going to later this month!

Obviously, Thunder Ballz never went anywhere even when all eleven chapters were written. But really, how could you expect it to when the whole objective of the story was to find lizard testicles. Again, I’m not profiting in any way by telling you this. In fact, I’m making my younger self sound like a total toolbox. Hehe! What this means is that the robotic junkyard idea is still up for grabs if I want to recycle it into another story. Heh, I said “recycle” in a conversation about junkyards.

If I was hosting a D&D campaign with a metallic scrapheap as the villain’s main base of operations, there are a few questions I need to answer for myself before starting the game. One, who in their right mind would want to live in a dingy place like a junkyard, and two, why are robotic limbs in the same universe as a fantasy role-playing game? While living in a pigsty isn’t always ideal to us semi-civilized humans, it would be for a tribe of orcs, ogres, or goblins. To answer the second question, if Magic: the Gathering can get away with using futuristic technology, so can D&D. They are, after all, distant cousins of one another since they were invented by Wizards of the Coast.

So you have the dirtiest and most classless races of monsters living in this scrapheap. Now what? What could possibly drive a wandering group of adventurers into this suicide mission? If they’re looking for priceless artifacts, they’d have just as much luck as a hobo diving in a dumpster: none. If a bounty head is hiding out here, that would be a little more realistic. He has protection from the disgusting creatures and, let’s face it, nobody would ever think to look in a place like this because nobody would want to hold their nose for that long. My mother, bless her soul, doesn’t even like being around wild rats. Adventurers like being around smell places even less. When you think about wanderlust and magical battles, a robotic junkyard isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.

But what kind of clues would you, the DM slash author, have to leave behind for someone to even consider digging through a place like this? New shipments? Bills? Noises? Activity? Or maybe one of the protective villains gets unlucky and can’t shake the adventurers off his tail, so he unknowingly leads them into the junkyard. Then again, maybe finding this hellhole of metallic crap isn’t such a good thing after all. You’ve still got swinging motors and flying anvils to duck and dodge. Don’t worry about getting a concussion, because you won’t be alive long enough to experience it!

So how about it, my creative brothers and sisters? Do you have any heroes who are crazy and/or stupid enough to want to go on a suicide mission in a metal scrapheap? Actually, it’s not considered good form to have stupid people for main heroes, unless you’re filming Forrest Gump. If your heroes are going to poke around a dangerous and filthy place, they’d better have a damn good reason. A dead body, a live body with a criminal past, or even an accidentally placed valuable artifact (which would be rare) would tickle the senses of even the most conservative adventurers. If you must adventure in the junkyard, the least you could do is take a gas mask with you. Breathing through your mouth doesn’t actually do anything to sooth the bad smell; that’s just a myth.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

If you’ve already heard me talk about this on Face Book, feel free to ignore this section and move onto the next. But it’s true, people: last night I went to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and they tore the motherfucking house down. They were heavy, they were creative, they were scary as hell, and they were fun to watch. While Slipknot was playing “Killpop”, I sang along with them in the most aggressive and passionate voice I could muster up. Apparently, this was enough for a guy to fist-bump me and for a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat to kiss the back of my hand. In the foolishly-written words of Anastasia Steele from “Fifty Shades of Grey”, my face was the color of the Communist Manifesto after that kiss. All in all, it was a fun-filled, magical night. On Sunday August 21^st, I get to do this all again at the annual Pain in the Grass festival headlined by Disturbed.

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Despite the energy I’ve spent over the past few days, I’m definitely competing in this week’s “Celestial” contest. I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to write “Hardcore Hogan”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling

Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego

Kasabian, Alien Lord

Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kasabian’s ship is flying through the celestial bodies.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Looks like I’ve got another Occupy Wrestling villain on my plate and his name is Dovald. He used to have a last name, but I can’t remember what it was and Marie and I both agreed that he shouldn’t have one. Lots of WWE wrestlers only have one name like Kane, Konnor, Viktor, and Kalisto just to name a few. Dovald’s gimmick is that of a dark paladin with thick metal armor and a big fucking flail. The worst part about him? He has a tag team partner named Garra who’s every bit as brutal and badass. Of course, when the time comes to draw Garra, he won’t look anything like Dovald. They may be twins in Occupy Wrestling, but they don’t have to be twins in my drawing gallery.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“It’s not a war on drugs; it’s a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times. Thank you and have a nice day.”

-Bill Hicks-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Hey, that could be another reason why someone would want to go to a robotic junkyard: drugs! There could be a meth lab on the underground floor! A perfect place for filthy and freaky people to hide out!

Slipknot X Marilyn Manson Concert

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

This coming Thursday, Slipknot and Marilyn Manson are going to do a show at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and I have a ticket to see them. Their opening act is Of Mice and Men, but I have no idea who they are. It’s going to be a fun night of badass music and chaotic visuals. If you go to one of these shows and you’re not excited, check your pulse. One thing I would like to point out is that Corey Taylor, the lead singer of Slipknot, underwent neck surgery earlier this year and won’t be allowed to head bang or jump up and down per doctor’s orders. He’ll still be one entertaining son of a bitch. How can you not be entertained by a dude in a frightening mask screaming at the top of his raspy lungs? That whole show is going to be fucking awesome. I can’t wait!

Just like with the Rob Zombie X Korn concert back in July, this concert is going to require some downtime afterwards for rest and relaxation. That means I’ll need a brief vacation from my creative schedule, but I’ll probably be able to compete in that week’s WSS contest. Actually, that’s not a probably. That’s a definitely. Who knows? Maybe the creepy and creative visuals from the Slipknot concert will inspire another deliciously violent short story. Creative fuel comes from the strangest places and that’s how I fucking like it!

Just like with all concerts and vacations, I’ll be back in one piece with plenty of cool stuff to do afterwards. Downtime doesn’t last forever, you know, not even for hardcore introverts like me. See you soon!

***MOVIE REVIEWS***

I have to admit, I got off to a rough start when it came to writing the review for Ghostbusters. I was so exhausted that day that I wrote down a few words and I couldn’t go anymore. Never fear, because this is easily fixable. And then once I’m done with Ghostbusters, you can have a review of Lucha Mexico. Both movies will receive passing grades a.k.a. four stars.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Remember Kai Oliveira from the 2014 short story “Luna the Moon Kitty”? She’s the child wizard who along with Luna convinces her guardian Hans Metzger to listen to reason and eventually help in building a better world after the demon wars. For the reference picture, I think I’ll use one of Reina’s Halloween photos from Face Book. I have several costumes to choose from whether it’s a fairy princess or the Cheshire Cat. It should make for an awesome picture, because Reina is naturally awesome…whenever she’s not driving me nuts, of course. Hehe!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’m waiting for the day when we can burn copies of each other’s girlfriends and skip the technology, period.”

-Mac Lethal rapping “Rotten Apple Pie”-

Real Life Projects

***REAL LIFE PROJECTS***

“Real life can get in the way of even the most brilliant creative projects.” I say this all the time to people online who need to take a sabbatical from the internet. Now it applies to me. Things are changing in the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household and as the family strongman I need to take part in those changes. I woke up at seven in the morning today to help my mom and Dale put together the yard sale. I went back to bed after my work was done and didn’t wake up until two in the afternoon. I also helped my parents put the yard sale stuff away and donate some of it to a local thrift store. There will be other loads of junk we donate on different days. For now, this will do. I felt so exhausted after today’s work that I don’t feel like doing anything creative at the moment.

As many of you know, I don’t handle exhaustion well. If I’m too tired, I won’t do anything creative for fear that my product will suck or that I’ll fall asleep in the middle of it. I owe a lot of this to the fact that I’m overweight. It’s easy to tell me that all I need to do is eat less and go to the gym more often. If things were that simple, I would have been a middleweight a long time ago. Fast food is addictive and car rides to the gym are not always available. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses and allowing my barriers to get the best of me, but if that’s the case, what would you rather I do: walk all the way from Port Orchard to Gig Harbor to the YMCA and then walk all the way back? It’d be a hell of a workout, but one that I would dread until that day I die.

The CPAP machine I was assigned to use by my doctor has been hit-and-miss when it comes to helping me get my energy back. Some nights I can wear the oxygen mask comfortably and wake up the next day ready to tackle anything and everything. Other nights the mask is either tight enough to leave red marks on my face or loose enough to blow oxygen into my eyes and cheeks. On those other nights, I don’t get a good night’s sleep and the whole idea of getting in bed is meaningless. I plan on emailing or calling my CPAP providers on Monday when they’re available to see if they can help me through this dilemma. I’m confident that they can. The lady who showed me how to use and clean the machine (Leah French) was friendly and supportive during the entire demonstration. She even gently told me to “Simmer down” when I was swearing at my failed attempts to unhinge the mask from its straps. Hehe!

The exhaustion isn’t going to end with today’s yard sale and thrift shop donations. For the next few months, real life will be calling my name and I’ll be there to answer that call. There are a few things going on in August that need my attention. My parents want to replace their carpeted flooring with vinyl since it’s easier to clean, so in order for that to happen, I have to help them move their living room furniture out of the way. As someone with autism, I’m more sensitive to pain and stress than everyone else, so doing all of that heavy lifting is going to take its toll. Despite this, if we’re going to keep having pets, this floor replacement needs to be done. My parents are Baby Boomers and can’t do as much as they used to in their younger years.

Dale especially can’t do much to help us with furniture shifting because he’s going to have a second surgery on his kidney in early August. Heavy lifting afterwards might rip his stitches and put him back in the hospital. Plus, he’s going to feel exhausted himself and won’t feel like doing his normal chores around the house. He’s been an awesome stepfather to me in the eleven years he’s lived with us, so it’s only right that I take over for him when he’s at his weakest. He can enjoy basketball and crime dramas in the easy chair until he recovers from his surgery.

On a more exciting, yet still exhausting note, I have two concerts that I plan on attending in August and one that I plan on attending in November. On August 11^th, Slipknot and Marilyn Manson will play at the White River Amphitheater with Of Mice and Men as their opening act. Hopefully, Corey Taylor can stay healthy while he’s entertaining all of us maggots. On August 21^st, the Pain in the Grass festival returns to that same venue and will be headlined by Disturbed. Other bands include, but are not limited to Breaking Benjamin, Alter Bridge, Saint Asonia, and Anthrax. And then in November I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch and Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as their opening acts. How can something so tiring feel so good at the same time? Because I’m a diehard metal head, that’s why!

In addition to one-day vacations a.k.a. rock concerts, I’m also going to go on a week-long vacation to Hawaii on October 3^rd. I’ve only been to Hawaii one other time in my life and it was in the fall of 2010. The weather was beautiful, the beaches were beautiful, and the brown women were even more beautiful. Hey, it’s not racist if I actually like their race. You can thank Jerry Seinfeld for that joke. Going to Hawaii will be all about rest and relaxation. We’ll probably do one major activity during each day and spend the rest of the time hanging around. Low-key vacations are the best, especially for hardcore introverts like me.

Before Dale, Mom, Aunt Ruth and I all go to Hawaii, Mom and Dale are taking a six-day vacation in September to Utah to see all of their national parks. I’m choosing to stay home and babysit the animals while they’re away since national parks aren’t my cup of tea. It’s a bunch of trees and rocks: so what? I even wrote a short story for American Darkness about this called “Trees, Rocks, and Murder” (it used to be called “Forest Dump” before Marie and I agreed that it wasn’t the best choice for a title). The trees and rocks part of the title apply to the national park vacation, but not murder, thank goodness.

Going back to August for a moment, my therapist Rachel is having a barbecue at her house on August 13^th, which is exactly two days after the Slipknot X Marilyn Manson concert and eight days before the Disturbed concert, the latter of which Rachel and her husband will go to if it’s not raining that day (it’s an outdoor venue). She and I have lots in common when it comes to our love for badass heavy metal. She’s also been very helpful to me since 2003 when I first confessed to my family that I was hearing voices and feeling suicidal. Managing my schizophrenic attacks is much easier thanks to her, so seeing her at the barbecue will be lots of fun. Besides which, I never turn down an opportunity to eat a good barbecued meal.

I hope I didn’t leave any important details out when it comes to mapping out the next few months for me. There’s going to be a lot of work to be done and a lot of fun to be had. It’s the same kind of duality in life Gemini Syndrome preaches in their music. Speaking of which, I hope Gemini Syndrome will be at the Pain in the Grass festival, because that would be fucking awesome! Getting back on topic for a minute, having this many things to do may be so tiring that I will have to take a sabbatical from creative work and the internet in general. That means I might not compete every week at the WSS nor will I meet my deadlines for beta-reading Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps’ manuscripts.

I’ll try to make this hectic schedule work, but I’m making no promises. Never fear, though, because no matter what happens in my life, I always make time to say hi and shoot the breeze with my friends and family, including my online ones. I may be gone for a little while, but never permanently. You guys have been so supportive of me and my author career over the years, so I’ll always miss you when I’m away. It’s not going to be like the Brave Little Toaster where I wait an entire generation to come back to my loved ones. In the same way that you all have been there for me, I will always be there for you. Thank you so much for listening to me.

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE FOR THE DAY***

JERRY: Hey, wait a minute; you have the Mark McEwen TV Guide.

WINONA: That’s Al Roker.

JERRY: Well, they’re both chubby weathermen. I get Dom Deluise and Paul Prudhoe mixed up too.

-Seinfeld-

Rob Zombie X Korn Concert

***ROB ZOMBIE X KORN CONCERT***

Tomorrow night, I’m going to the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, WA to see Rob Zombie and Korn in concert with In This Moment as the opening act. After all of the “crazy days” I’ve had lately, this heavy metal showdown is a welcome distraction. Lots of headbanging, lots of badassery, lots of motherfucking heavy metal! I won’t be in the mosh pit this time around, though, and that’s by design. I need a place to sit down after a long day of jumping up and down to kick-ass music. The spirit will still be the same, though.

Anybody who follows me on Face Book knows that I like to include concerts I go to under “Life Events”. I did it for the Nightwish concert in Seattle earlier this year and I’ll do it for every concert I attend this year as well. Going to a concert for me is like a one day vacation to another land. Yes, I could just as easily watch the bands on You Tube, but it’s not the same experience. Going to venues like the White River Amphitheater, the Showbox, and the Tacoma Dome are like pilgrimages to me. These heavy metal bands have a huge influence on my life and it’s only right that I get to see them up close and personal.

I’ll be rocking out for each and every one of you out there. Let’s tear shit up! And then after tomorrow night, I’ve got Slipknot, Disturbed, and Five Finger Death Punch to look forward to (on separate shows, of course).

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The theme for this week’s contest is “Muscle Memory” and what better way to celebrate that prompt than with a story called “Dark Fantasy Rock Goddess”? I can’t think of one. Here’s how it goes:

CHARACTERS:

Bloodshark, Human Sorcerer

Autumn Smith, Elf Bard

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Playing the acoustic guitar requires muscle memory.

SYNOPSIS: Autumn travels to the medieval town of Fairhaven to play a concert in front of a drunken crowd. To save money on security detail, she hires Bloodshark as her sole protector. During the concert, the drunken fans get too touchy-feely for Autumn’s taste, so Bloodshark unleashes his deadly magic upon them in the form of fireballs, glacial spikes, and lightning bolts. When her mercenary becomes too violent, she must play him a gentle bard tune to sooth his anger before he does too much damage.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

With Tetra Engel and Jax Nightshade in the books, that means there’s only one character left from “Medicine Man” that needs to be drawn. That character is the spear-wielding gangster named Anya Kolobalos. She was originally supposed to be a part of a Final Fantasy videogame idea back in 2007, but that idea never materialized past a few chapters. So now she’s been recycled as a heartless thug who wants Jax’s maggot therapy for drug peddling purposes. With a spear that big, who is anybody to say no to her?

***MUSIC JOKE OF THE DAY***

If Jacoby Shaddix is playing Monopoly and builds a third hotel on one of his properties, is it his “last resort”?

Current Events

***CURRENT EVENTS***

You would think that with all of the political poetry and short stories I post that I would be more active when it comes to talking about current events. Truth is I don’t like talking about current events at all. I might make a few posts on my friends and family’s Face Book memes, but that’s about it. It’s not because I don’t care about tragedies. It’s because if I do talk about them, I’m going to sound like a ticking time bomb instead of a reasonable human being. A lot of these news stories make me angry, but not nearly as angry as the disgusting reactions to them on the internet and in the media.

I don’t intentionally engage people on the internet about recent stories because I’d rather people learn to get along than argue furiously with each other. Whenever there’s a story about gun violence in America, we don’t all come together and be the good neighbors we should be. Instead, we get all fired up about the second amendment, free states, and all this other ridiculous nonsense that has nothing to do with love or understanding each other. After I posted a story called “Putting the Ass in Assault Rifle” online, you should all know by now how I feel about gun control, but that’s not the point of this journal.

For just one moment, can we all come together and be friends and neighbors to each other instead of pushing and shoving to be the loudest person in the group? Is it too much to ask to give each other hugs and hair fuzzles, maybe even a few kisses? Am I really demanding a lot out of you when I ask that you pet your kitties and belly rub your puppies? Positivity isn’t just a new age buzz word; it’s a way of life for those who refuse to become bitter at the world over news stories.

Being positive doesn’t mean we should feel happy for doing nothing. Being positive means we have the power to change the world for the better. You don’t have to be Superman or Batman in order to change things. Hell, you don’t even have to be a character from Mr. Robot. Even the smallest gestures can have the biggest impact. You could donate money to the victims’ families, whether it’s ten dollars or five hundred. You could post heartfelt and honest songs on your Face Book page. You could give a hug to someone who has been deeply affected by the tragedy. No one person can do everything, but everybody can do something. If everybody does something positive on a regular basis, that’s a lot of good deeds that the world will remember for almost eternity.

We’ve got ears, say cheers! I say that all the time whenever I write a journal entry. I stole it from a Disney-themed kids show called Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Such simple words are one of my small contributions to a happier world. It’s microscopic at best, but as long as one person gets the message, it’ll spread to everyone eventually, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it’ll happen one of these days.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

This past Saturday, I was expected to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in concert at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, WA. Unfortunately, the concert date was moved to August 11^th because the lead singer for Slipknot, Corey Taylor, had to have emergency spinal surgery. Keeping with the theme of positivity, instead of complaining about a postponed concert, I’m going to wish Corey Taylor a speedy recovery. I’m not sure if he’ll want hair fuzzles, though. Hehe!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

For this week’s contest, the admins decided to use one of my prompt suggestions, which I’m thankful for. The theme is “Stained Glass” and my story is called “Vampire Empire”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Michael Finn, Vampire Warrior

Paul Singer, Devil Worshiper

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The satanic church has stained glass windows.

SYNOPSIS: Michael needs a place to stay during the day so that he doesn’t burn up. Paul offers him sanctuary in his satanic church, but on one condition. Reverend Singer wants Michael to turn him into a vampire so that he can have the powers necessary to take over the world and spread satanic culture wherever he goes. Michael tries to explain to Paul that being a vampire isn’t as glorious or powerful as it seems. The reverend gets offended to where he threatens to kick his guest out of the church.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next is the eponymous King Blizzard, who will look a lot like Sabertooth from the X-Men series because I used an action figure of him to represent that character when I played with my childhood friend Lance. Over the decades, Blizzard went from being an indestructible giant to a guy who sat on a pile of furniture and punctured his intestines. Ouch!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call a fuzzy doll modeled after Daniel Bryan?

A: B-Plush Player.

My 31st Birthday

***MY 31^ST BIRTHDAY***

This coming Friday (June 3^rd), I’m going to be a 31-year-old man, but I’ll still be a big kid at heart. Age is all about mind over matter: if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. I may be too old for a lot of things, but playing with action figures, playing with Legos, snuggling with animals, and writing whacky stories are not among them. Action figures of Konnor, Viktor, and Sting from the WWE are just the beginning for me. June is going to be an eventful month for me in three different ways, my birthday on the third being one of them.

On June 8^th, five days after I turn 31, I’m finally going to have my sleep study. I know this sounds boring to a lot of people, but to me, it’s the most important way I can take care of myself. Whenever I’ve refrained from doing creative activities, it was always because I was too mentally exhausted to carry on with my day. I would go to bed late and wake up late, still feeling sluggish and shitty. The sleep study will determine if I need an oxygen mask for my sleep apnea, which I probably will. Having that oxygen mask and continuing to eat healthy and exercise will be my saving grace when it comes to my lack of energy. More energy means more creativity. More creativity means a happier audience. A happier audience means a happier me.

Three days after I have my sleep study, I’m going to the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, Washington to see a concert headlined by Slipknot and Marilyn Manson with the opening act being Of Mice and Men. This means lots of scary masks, lots of scary makeup, lots of heavy ass metal, and lots of creative fuel for an author whose tank is overflowing. This will be just the first of many concerts I will attend in 2016. In July, it’s Rob Zombie X Korn with In This Moment as opening guests. In August, it’s the Pain in the Grass festival with Disturbed headlining the event. Finally, in November, I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as the opening acts. Let’s get ready to rage, motherfuckers!

All in all, living on this earth for 31 years has been a great experience. I got to go on many vacations to both American and foreign places. I got to see many concerts of bands I love. I got to snuggle with many puppies and kitties over the years. I’ve written many stories and songs and had them self-published. I’ve met many wonderful people along the way. I got to do all of these things with my loving family on both sides of the marriage. The best part of all of this? I’ve got many more decades to go, many of which will be filled with even more magical moments. Never forget the power of love and happiness; it doesn’t just end after your birthday. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new week started a few days ago, but not to worry, because I still have a few more days left before the deadline. The prompt will be “Cracked Mirrors” and my story will be called “Subway Smackdown”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Khan Shou, Monster Warrior

Venice Reyes, Human Model

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The damage to Venice’s car includes shattered mirrors.

SYNOPSIS: In a dystopian future where monsters roam the city freely, Venice’s car is vandalized as she leaves her apartment. The only way she can get to her first modeling gig without being late is to take the subway. Venice tries to find a comfortable place to sit, but the subway train is covered in filthy creatures, both in attitude and appearance. Khan Shou, a seven-foot tall piece of raw meat, takes special interest in her and tries to coax her into a romantic relationship. With no fighting skills and nobody to help her, Venice has to brave this subway ride as best as she can.

On a side note, I’m going to be featured in the WSS’s monthly magazine for submitting “Tiger Bullet Kick” in their June edition. I consider that to be an early birthday present!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

It took me three attempts to get Christopher Brown right, so now I can set my sights on Andrew Bradley, the English mercenary from “Ninja”. For a reference picture, I think I’m going to use Freddie from the second Final Fight game. He’s got the size, the hairy body, and the military getup, so he’ll be perfect for drawing Andrew. Hopefully, it’ll only take one attempt this time. Hehe!

***BUMPER STICKER OF THE DAY***

We have a daughter in public school who hasn’t been knocked up yet. We have a son in public school who hasn’t shot any of his classmates, but he does sell drugs to your honor student. Plus, he knocked up your daughter.

Scary Masks

***SCARY MASKS***

If you go to my Face Book page (which is under my real name Garrison Haines-Temons), you will see that my profile picture is me wearing Corey Taylor’s Slipknot mask. I wore a different Slipknot mask on Halloween, but the scariness was the same as evidenced by little children crying, screaming, and parting from my walking path like the Red Sea. Scaring the shit out of everyone around me is fun because I already get enough grief for being socially awkward, so why not go the full nine when it comes to traumatizing people? Why does Halloween terror only get to happen once a year? This journal will document some of my favorite creepy masks throughout history and maybe give you all ideas for scaring the shit out of people on October 31^st. Starting with…

　

***SLIPKNOT HORROR MOVIE MASKS***

If you wear one of these masks, you’re a part of something special. You open your ears to the grinding vocals of Corey Taylor and the thrashing heavy metal music the rest of Slipknot brings. Although the music comes off as angry, energetic, and devilish, the people of this band would never inflict harm on another human being. The violent fantasies are just that: fantasies. Each mask comes from classic horror cinema and was designed to carry out the legacy of psychological torture. Corey Taylor’s most recent mask comes from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mick Thomson’s mask is a modification of Hannibal Lecter’s hockey mask. Shawn Crahan’s clown mask is based off of Stephen King’s horrifying monster Pennywise. Though his name escapes me, the guy who wears the gimp mask with the long leather nose drew inspiration from Alex’s mask from A Clockwork Orange during the rape scene. If you’re not chilled to your core, you were dead from pants-pissing fright a long time ago, my friend. Then again, that’s how most close-minded folks meet their fate.

　

***PINK FLOYD THE WALL PUTTY FACES***

If you wear this kind of mask, you’ve lost so much of your individuality that you blend in with the rest of the crowd. A flesh-colored mask with two large holes for the eyes and one large hole for the mouth, that might as well be your driver’s license photo. But you didn’t give up on your individuality without a fight. It had to be taken from you via negative reinforcement, which came in the form of coercion, violence, or most common, insults. When someone insults a part of your life, the insulting words leech onto that part of your mind like parasites. Try as you might to derive pleasure from that part of your life, all you’ll get is a playback of those negative words, so you avoid it as much as possible. And when you avoid it, you avoid other things that give you pleasure and hope until you no longer have a face of your own. Fighting for your individuality has become more important now than it ever has been with the emergence of the millennial generation, a group of youngsters who follow their own paths to success and prefer creative expression over dull corporate politics.

　

***PHANTO FROM SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 2***

You don’t have to worry about having this creepy visage on your face, because Phanto is a sentient being. Two downward curved eyeholes followed by a wide grin, Phanto has one job in Super Mario Brothers 2: to guard the golden key and punish those who take it with intimidation and incessant ramming. Not all Phanto masks have this assignment. Some of them are hanging on the walls of whatever dungeon Mario is in just for a frightening ambience. The hallway leading to King Wart and his vegetable machine is lined with a row of dormant Phanto masks. They won’t hurt you physically, but mentally, you’re on high alert even after King Wart is nauseous from being force-fed vegetables. Looking into those pitch black eyes and knowing you’re being smiled at is enough to give most Nintendo-playing millennials lifelong nightmares. If Phanto’s mouth was capable of forming words, what would he say to you? “Run!”

　

***HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD GANGSTER MASKS***

If you’re wearing one of these masks, you know the struggles of the originators of these visages. Hollywood Undead is a rap rock band who in their words have nearly died for the music they made. Hollywood isn’t exactly the safest place on earth with its history of gang violence, police corruption, and influx of dangerous drugs. To be a member of Hollywood Undead means you’ve survived these mean streets and you live to tell your tales through rapping lyrics and heavy metal instrumentation. You played a million empty shows to only family and friends, but the minute My Space discovered you, your popularity took off and your scary visages are recognizable from miles away. Keep on rhyming, boys. Keep on head banging. If anybody wants to deliver their negative hate to you, let them know just what it’s like to survive California’s toughest neighborhoods. Most trolls would crap their pants at such visuals, as if the masks aren’t scary enough.

　

***OCCUPY WALL STREET’S GUY FAWKES MASKS***

Every Guy Fawkes mask is identical with the curved moustache, soul patch beard, and debonair face. But make no mistake about it: you didn’t lose your individuality by joining this movement. You joined it because you’re sick of the top one-percent trying to strip you of everything you love. You ask for “free shit” because getting it with today’s wages would be impossible with bills and screw jobs serving as obstacles. Though vocal you may be, you still are capable of the same amount of peace and serenity as any other legitimate protester. But the corrupt police department doesn’t always know this. If they see you with a Guy Fawkes mask, they will not hesitate to beat and pummel you while pinning false charges and making false arrests. The one-percent think they’ve won after such a bloody battle with authority. But they haven’t. They’re merely proving a point we’ve known all along and the Guy Fawkes clan is here to spread that awareness worldwide. Those who listen to you will feel empowered. Those who don’t will feel unjustifiably safe.

　

***THE WYATT FAMILY’S SHEEP MASKS***

Unlike the members of Slipknot, the WWE’s backwoods cult known as The Wyatt Family enjoy the opportunity to bring violence and hatred to every battle with other WWE superstars. It’s not enough that Erick Rowan (the white sheep) and Braun Strowman (the black sheep) are nearly seven feet tall and weigh in excess of 300 lbs. of muscle and murder. They also have to wear creepy-looking animal masks that do little more than solidify their loyalty to not only their brother Luke Harper, but their leader Bray Wyatt. Very few people have waged war with the Wyatts and emerged survivors, let alone victorious. These men are huge, they have scraggly beards, they stink like a swamp, and two of their members feel the need to wear sheep masks. If they carried sickles, chainsaws, and knives to the ring with them, they would complete their serial killer images. When Bray Wyatt tells you to “Run!”, that’s the wisest advice anybody can give you. Stretch your legs, get your cardio in, because it’s going to be the longest and most exhausting marathon you’ll be a part of.

　

***CONCLUSION***

If somebody calls you a coward for “hiding behind” one of these masks, just allow them to get a better look at you and then we’ll see who’s shitting their pants at the end of the confrontation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

A new week is already here, which means a new prompt has been released. This time we’re dealing with the topic of “homecomings”, which is good news for me because I happen to have a synopsis ready for such an occasion. My story will be called “I Owe You Nothing” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

John Link, Sexual Harasser
Tina Williamson, Victim
Kenny Williamson, Tina’s Father
Melissa Williamson, Tina’s Mother

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The story begins with Tina returning home from school.

　

SYNOPSIS: Prior to the events of this story, John had repeatedly asked Tina out on dates during school time and Tina’s answer was always a definitive no. Fast forward to the actual story and Tina comes home from school to see John in the living room chatting with her parents and buttering them up. Tina continues to resist John’s advances despite coercion from him, Kenny, and Melissa. The situation reaches its boiling point when John pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and demands a yes answer at the threat of Tina being shot.

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Danielle Courtney’s drawing yielded some…interesting results, particularly those of Marilyn Manson comparisons. I can’t say they’re wrong. Hehe! This next drawing will be different because the character is actually supposed to look manly. He’s a human necromancer named Angelo Rude and he’s the lead villain of a short story that used to be called “conform”, but is now called “Dead Man Walking”. Dance, skeletons! Dance!

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“If you’re 555, then I’m 666!”

-Slipknot singing “The Heretic Anthem”-