Same Shit, Different Story

***SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT STORY***

In my last blog entry, I said something that I never thought I’d hear myself say in a million years: nothing ever grows in the comfort zone. For the longest time, I’ve been living in my own personal comfort zone and justified it by saying that leaving would end up being another bad decision. Well, you know what happens when you start coasting with your writing? You adopt the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” mentality. While that philosophy may seem like a good idea on paper, you get in the habit of using the same formulas over and over again. As a result, every short story, novel, and poem will blend together like masked children from a Pink Floyd music video. I know this because…it happened to me.

If you follow me on Face Book, you would have seen me post status updates about how some of my American Darkness 3 characters have the same first name. I’ve had multiple characters named Matt, Tony, Vikki, Daniel, and Marcus. I have since changed these names and updated the changes to my Deviant Art account. For example, Matt Ramirez from “Escape From Kentucky” is now known as Marvin Ramirez. My niece Reina kept joking about how the name Matt wasn’t reflective of a half-black, half-Mexican character. She’s not wrong. Marvin Ramirez actually sounds like it could fit the bill. Plus, there’s one less guy in my stories named Matt.

If you’re still paying attention to the shit that I say on Face Book, you would have also seen a post about how my American Darkness 3 stories have similar themes and plots among each other. I’ll give you one example of that. After looking over all sixteen stories I’ve written so far (and that doesn’t include the synopses I wrote for future stories), three of those stories are about home invasions: Dark Skills, Crow Cop, and Duct Tape Princess. One home invasion story would have been just fine. But then I also have two different stories about domestic violence: Brandi and Belts & Welts. And then I have three different stories about the media: Disneylodeon, Defamation, and Age Against the Machine. Marie Krepps likes to joke with me about how all of the dogs in Poison Tongue Tales have saggy jowls. What’s going on in American Darkness 3 is a lot more serious.

And you know what else? It’s not just American Darkness 3 that suffers from this sameness. Both installments of Poison Tongue Tales follow the same basic formula of two people trying to beat the shit out of each other (not unlike a WWE wrestling match). Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, Necrograph, and what will soon be Lunatic Justice are all dominated by songs and poems about anger and angst. While there are hard rock and heavy metal bands that thrive on this formula, I’ll bet you anything their entire catalogue of songs doesn’t have the kind of frequency that’s found in my own poetry. Don’t get me started about Occupy Wrestling and all the other novel ideas I have fleshed out; they’re just Poison Tongue Tales stories with a higher word count.

Something has to change in my writing. I don’t know exactly what that could be, because as much as I hate to admit it, I do have limited experience when it comes to the world. I’ve never had a paying job, never been in love, never had a serious social circle outside of the internet, didn’t receive my first kiss until 2014, never had sex, and have only been around the world a handful of times. When I was a kid, my creative fuel came in the form of violent entertainment whether it was videogames, wrestling, or martial arts movies. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of other genres like romance, but without having a realistic picture of what true love is like, I can’t be an authority on the subject in my writing.

Having said everything that needs to be said, I’ve come to a decision regarding American Darkness 3. As of today, January 7^th, 2018, American Darkness 3 has been suspended indefinitely, which means I’ll have to find something else to do not only for the WSS, but also for my creative life as a whole. Pretty much all of my developed synopses for novel ideas fall under the category of ass beatings and unexplained magic, not unlike Poison Tongue Tales and its sequel.

Meanwhile, I have nine different novel synopses that could be considered modern day drama. While these ideas do have their fair share of violence, the violent confrontations don’t saturate the entire story to where every chapter sounds the same. Would you like me to list them off? Sure, why not?

1. Chicken and Fries (working as a concessions clerk in an arena full of abusive customers (could be considered Clerks-Lite by critics))
2. The Has-Been Society (going to a school that slashed its art classes budget and continues to promote conformity)
3. I Won’t Forgive You (getting revenge on an abusive father who now lives with a new family)
4. Is This Weird? (romance with a man who has three different weird fetishes: duct tape, feet, and diapers)
5. Memento Mori (pissing off an entire conservative town with offensive standup comedy)
6. Never Conform (refusing to obey prison guards and getting tortured for it)
7. Silent Warrior (navigating a tough high school as a traumatized introvert)
8. Suck It, Double Dork (scaring children for life with perverted drawings of cartoon characters getting raped)
9. Tender Loving Intensive Care (putting a sexually harassing ex-girlfriend in the ICU as a form of healing)

If these nine stories are the keys to the next kingdom, I have to figure out which one will open the lock to new horizons. Or maybe I could ask you guys, my lovely audience, for feedback as to which of these stories sounds the most interesting to you. There’s nothing wrong with a little artistic democracy every now and then. What do you guys think? I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What nickname did Snoopy’s bird friend earn when he waited outside Peppermint Patty’s house for hours with a pair of binoculars?

A: Would Stalk.

Weirdo Alert

In Louise Bradbury’s mind, she could have been paid a million dollars per week and it still wouldn’t have been enough for what she had to go through. Making a decent cup of coffee was the easy part. Dealing with the “loony toons” who waddled through the shopping mall was where she believed she deserved a raise. Old men who couldn’t shut up about the 1920’s, teenagers who laughed like hyenas at every minor occurrence, middle aged men who kept trying to get the baristas’ phone numbers, that kind of shit.

Louise looked absolutely miserable behind the counter of her coffee bar with a hunched over body and a dull expression on her face. Customer service protocol always dictated that she had to have a positive expression, but she just couldn’t fake it anymore. Her attempts at smiles were more see-through than a wet T-shirt. Her engagements in small talk were so boring that she almost fell asleep on the job. And to think, this minimum wage money was supposed to mean something later down the line. What it meant, Louise didn’t know.

When a powerful sneeze sounded off in the background, that was when Miss Bradbury’s “weirdo alert” went off in her head like a police siren. She tucked her head down in her palm at the embarrassing entrance of a regular customer known as Denny Smith (she knew his name from his debit card information).

With a bucket of ice cream in one hand and a tablet in the other, Denny dragged his big ass over to one of the tables closest to Louise’s counter. With ice cream stains on his Snoopy shirt and blue sweat pants, the other customers couldn’t help but stare at him for the longest time. He sneezed so hard that it sounded like he blew his whole sinus cavity out, to which some customers got up and walked away in disgust.

Louise was one of the people looking on in wide-eyed terror as Denny shoveled huge scoops of vanilla ice cream in his mouth with no regard for the sweet treat dripping down his double chin. The big man even coughed up huge wads of snot and then swallowed them again, prompting even more horrified customers to power-walk away. Denny managed to thin the herd even more when he let out the world’s largest fart, which sounded a lot like a shotgun blast.

In between bites of ice cream, Denny said to the leaving customers, “It’s a natural function! I’m an American! I can fart if I want to! What are you going to do, arrest me for farting?!”

Digging deep for a silver lining in all of this, Louise thought to herself that Denny could have been doing her a favor by not making her deal with these other obnoxious customers. But if that was her only positive, then she still had the right to shiver in disgust and gag on snot herself.

Normally, the customer was always right (at least that’s what it said in Louise’s training video). But when her “weirdo alert” was going off in her head, it sounded too much like a schizophrenic nightmare. She clutched her head and gave off a subtle “Ugh!” before racing around the counter to confront Denny.

“Excuse me, Mr. Smith,” said Louise with her hands behind her back in feigned politeness. Instead of undivided attention, Denny gave her another nuclear bomb fart, to which she plugged her nose and shivered like she was having a seizure.

Only then would Denny look up from his ice cream and his tablet and say, “What? What’s your problem? It’s a free country; I’m allowed to fart whenever I want. It’s in the constitution.”

This sense of American entitlement sent Louise into a screaming rage complete with waving hands and a shrill voice. “There’s nothing in the constitution that says you can scare off my customers with your weird ass behavior! If you have to fart so badly, go to the bathroom across the hall! If you have to sneeze so hard that your tiny brain falls out, go to the goddamn bathroom, you fucking weirdo!”

Louise covered her own mouth in shock after dropping that F-bomb, as did several customers who were just passing by. The barista held her hands up in defense and whispered an apology before the customers shook their heads and strolled away.

With her new whispery calm demeanor, Louise patted Denny on the shoulder and said, “Look, all I’m saying is that you should try to act just a little bit normal and be a decent member of society like the rest of us. That way, people won’t want to run away in horror whenever they want to come here for a cup of coffee. You might even get a girlfriend one day, I don’t know!”

“First of all, dumb-ass” said Denny while pointing his sausage finger at the barista. “I can’t help it if I have to fart or sneeze. I’ve had allergies to pretty much everything since I was five years old. You think walking all the way over to that bathroom is going to solve anything? Hell no! Besides, do you think I give two shits and a flying fuck what anyone thinks of me? I’m supposed to conform to everyone else’s system so that I can have a slightly better chance of getting laid? Look at me! This is not the body of a man who goes around stealing women! This is the body of someone who’s addicted to ice cream like it’s crack cocaine, which sugar pretty much is!”

Folding her arms, Louise said, “Look, I understand if you want to be your own person, but come on, is farting and sneezing really a part of who you are? Is that the person you want to be? Do you really enjoy driving people away and being obnoxious?”

“I don’t know, missy, do you like standing behind the counter like you’ve got a stick up your butt?” Louise’s expression softened into solemnity at Denny’s accurate statement. He licked the ice cream off of his fingers and said, “You think I just sit around here every day like a dumb-ass and not notice everything around me? I see your looks of horror. I see you guys walking away like I’m the boogeyman. I guess a simple case of allergies will do that to people. I had no idea that medical conditions were so freakish. You think I enjoy having a runny nose and a snotty throat? Go back behind your counter and do your fucking job. I’ll stay here and do mine.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say something about a job?” said Louise while placing her authoritative palms on Denny’s table. “You mean to tell me that you get paid to shovel ice cream down your throat and make disgusting bodily noises everywhere you go? Shit, if I would have known that was even a career, I would have given up making coffee a long time ago!”

Denny yelled, “You fucking bitch!” while shooting up to his feet and accidentally knocking his tablet over. “Shit, now look at what you made me do! I bet that damn thing’s cracked!”

Louise knelt down to pick it up and waved Denny off while saying, “Don’t worry, it’s not cracked. I’m sure the cover on this thing…” The barista had a wide-eyed expression as she flipped through the photos on the tablet, but for reasons other than Denny’s farts and sneezes. “These paintings are beautiful,” she said. And they were, too. Paintings of armored medieval warriors, lightning elemental dragons, shadow magic-using wizards, and fiery ninjas. This kind of skill could have easily landed Denny a job at a comic book publishing house or even an art museum.

While Louise stared at the paintings with a bright smile she hadn’t formed in years, Denny said, “That’s the job I was talking about. I paint for a living. Well, I’m not really a professional. I’m not much of a marketer. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put into these paintings, because only one or two people want to actually buy them.”

Louise placed a hand on her chest like these paintings took her breath away, but then gave a sullen expression to Denny before saying, “Look, I don’t want to give you a lecture about…”

“I know! I know, damn it!” said Denny. “I know my weird ass behavior is keeping people from buying my paintings. But you know what? Nobody gives a shit about artists anymore. Everyone wants me to be an engineer or some other kind of science nut. As long as people are going to turn their noses down at me, I might as well act as crazy as I want.”

“Denny, I’m so sorry,” said Louise in a sheepish voice with her head tucked.

“Yeah, you’re sorry now that you’ve seen these paintings! You could have been sorry long before you saw them, but no, you had to be like every one of these ignoramuses here at the mall and gag in disgust like a bunch of bitches! Maybe I’ll get over my allergies someday! Maybe I’ll also get over my sugar addiction! But until then, you can feel free to forget about me, because I don’t want to be famous in a city that doesn’t give a shit about art!”

Denny yanked the tablet from Louise’s hands and threw his bucket of ice cream in the trash before marching away. Everything the pudgy man said was right and Louise didn’t want to admit it to herself (regardless of having no choice). The barista sat down at one of the tables and held her face in her hands while sobbing quietly. She chastised this poor man over bodily functions when really he was the most beautiful person in this entire mall. Louise had no artistic talents of her own and those paintings made her jealous. She tried so many times to be as good as Denny, but everyone laughed at her and told her to get a “real job”.

Then she thought to herself, “Fuck this real job!” Louise took off her apron and threw it behind the counter before running after Denny screaming, “Hey, wait up! Wait!” She didn’t know what she would expect once she caught up to the “weirdo”. Would Denny teach her how to be an individual? Would he teach her how to be an artist as good as himself? Would he turn her away like Louise tried to do a few moments ago? No matter what the outcome, Louise Bradbury had to find out before it was too late.