HEY, HEY, HEY! We Got Another Hollywood Reboot!

 

Meat Squadron Soldier from "The Meat Squadron" (DUH!)

 

Give Me the Weapon

So…have any of you watched a movie or TV show where an attacker is threatening people with a weapon and someone pleads with him to hand it over?

“Give me the gun. Don’t do this.”

“It’s okay, just give me the knife. Please.”

“Give me the crowbar before you do something you’ll regret.”

It makes for some intense drama, no doubt…unless of course the weapon isn’t a basic one and has a complex name.

“Give me Excalibur. Please.”

“Give me the Dork Slayer before you hurt somebody.”

“Give me the Shadow Edge before something bad happens. I’m begging you.”

And just like that you’ve gone from dramatic tension to the audience busting up with laughter.

Sex

CHORUS

Everything’s about sex except sex itself

Sex is about power and really nothing else

If it looks like a penis or like a vagina

Can’t wait to get something inside ya

VERSE 1

Look at that knight and his surfboard sword

Look at the way he cuts down the orc horde

Not even their axes could put a dent in his armor

It’s made of gold and spikes, for starters

But everything about him reminds you of a dick

And his only end goal is to obviously get chicks

His sword is so long and fat around the edges

So are the spikes in his suit, gold is piss, you get it?

CHORUS

Everything’s about sex except sex itself

Sex is about power and really nothing else

If it looks like a penis or like a vagina

Can’t wait to get something inside ya

VERSE 2

Look at the damsel stuck in the dragon’s tower

Rescue her and she’ll give you money and power

One slash of the dragon’s neck and he’s gone

Head rolling down the hill into the bubbly swamp

Damsel thanks you with a passionate kiss

Whether you want it or not, no refusing this

How can you be platonic when she’s clearly a prize?

The male gaze comes with the horniest eyes

CHORUS

Everything’s about sex except sex itself

Sex is about power and really nothing else

If it looks like a penis or like a vagina

Can’t wait to get something inside ya

BRIDGE

Testosterone is the reason for all of your decisions

Sperm invades your brain like a vaginal incision

If you get an A+ in all of your classes

It’s because you fantasize about tits and asses

Never mind that you studied and prepared for life

Because it all means nothing without a sexy wife

Everyone in town walks around with an erection

Always looking for ways to get an extension

VERSE 3

It’s insulting to every gender that there is

To leave the world around you covered in jizz

Think of all that greatness we could achieve

If we had self-esteem we could truly believe

CHORUS

Everything’s about sex except sex itself

Sex is about power and really nothing else

If it looks like a penis or like a vagina

Can’t wait to get something inside ya

I Don't Need an Out

***I DON’T NEED AN OUT***

While it is true that there’s no age limit for success in the world of writing, some days it can feel like you’re running out of time. Maybe it’s been a while since your last session. Maybe real life got in the way of what you love the most. Maybe the burnout bug bit you a little too hard on the ass. Whatever the case may be, the longer you delay your project, the more pressure you feel to get it done. You don’t necessarily want an out. You’re trying desperately to find an in. And yet, procrastination takes over anyways. You’ve been locked out of heaven and you’re desperately banging on the gates to get back in. I’ve been there. You’ve been there. Anybody who’s ever picked up a pen or pounded on a keyboard has been there.

It wasn’t always this way, but I’m definitely a procrastinator whether I want to admit it or not. From third grade all the way to eighth, it used to be that I’d do my homework right when I got home from school and not a moment later. I turned in my assignments on time and got the good grades I wanted (mostly). And then starting in my freshman year of high school when the bullying was at its worst, I waited until nightfall to start my homework assignments. I purposefully delayed my work because I was afraid the PTSD would interrupt me and cause me to fuck up. While I eventually overcame the bullying and mental trauma, the habit of delaying my schoolwork stayed with me until I graduated from college in 2009. It could have been the onset of schizophrenia that kept the habit alive, but it follows me well into the prime of my writing career.

Whether I consciously or subconsciously do it, I keep looking for an out from my creative duties. I don’t want to look for an out. I don’t need to. I’d love to storm the gates of heaven and climb over the top. But some days, I can’t tell if I’m legitimately too exhausted to work or if I’m looking for an out. Maybe the reason I keep looking for an out is because I’m afraid of being interrupted by what the fuck goes on inside my head. While it’s a terrible idea to write while mentally slogged, I agree, it has gotten in the way of progress and as a result I feel awful about doing nothing for the rest of the day. Yes, lots of good writers procrastinate and proudly so, but this is a habit I don’t want. I’d love to quell my anxieties before knowing for sure if I’m tired, but it hasn’t happened yet and here we are.

When I get right down to it, there’s really nothing to be afraid of other than being afraid of shit. When I edit a long-term project, there’s nothing to fear because my beta readers and editors are friendly people who give wise critiques. When I write a short story or novel chapter, there’s nothing to fear because I’m getting in my practice and keeping my skills sharp, first draft or not. When I’m writing a review, again, not much to be afraid of because I’ve already rehearsed all of my talking points in my head and I’m ready to go well in advance. I don’t want to use the tired old phrase “it’s all in my head”, but there really is no reason for all of this fear. If I fuck up badly, so what? That’s the beauty of writing: you don’t have to get it right the first time, unlike a brain surgeon or a police officer.

Back in 2017, Texas rock band Nothing More released an album called “The Stories We Tell Ourselves” and it has many dialogue tracks in between their original songs. One of those dialogue tracks is from philosopher Alan Watts and he describes how the only way to master fear is to allow yourself to be afraid. When you’re constantly fighting fear, you’re only setting up a vicious cycle of being afraid of fear and being afraid of being afraid of fear. When you relax your defenses, you realize you’ve got nothing to defend and there’s no reason to fight in the first place.

I practiced Alan Watts’s mantra many times on the nights before I attended a rock concert. There was always the lingering fear of something bad happening at the show or transportation to and from the show being stressful as hell. I allowed myself to be afraid. I let the anxiety wash over me and it worked. I mastered my own fear. Can this method be applied to my writing? If I try hard enough, I suppose. The next time I feel anxious about being critiqued or whatnot, I’m just going to let it happen. Let the fear do its thing and then sort out the logic later. Will I stop procrastinating? Maybe not, but at least acknowledging my own fear will feel better for me in the long run than undeserved guilt.

I’m not saying that Alan Watts’s mantra or my own life experiences will work for everybody else. There is no one-size-fits-all solution when it comes to psychology because everybody is different and everybody has their own set of obstacles. My obstacles are schizophrenia, burnout, and the anxiety that comes with both of those things. Being aware of your own mind and your own circumstances will come a long way, though. Once you know what the problem is, you can relax long enough to find a solution that works for you and you alone.

Try it. If it doesn’t work, try something else. Stay curious and keep looking for answers. Don’t look so hard for answers that you add to your anxieties. We can do this. We can overcome procrastination together. Or if procrastination is what you naturally do and it doesn’t interrupt your work schedule, it may not be a problem to begin with. Like I said, no one-size-fits-all solution. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

After twenty days of wrestling with procrastination and self-doubt, chapters seven and eight have been revised. Chapter nine will have to be rewritten entirely to accommodate for Tarja Rikkinen’s suggested character changes. Instead of being a Mary-Sue who talks like a therapist and fights like a goddess, she’ll crack jokes at inappropriate times as a way to mask her own trauma and then feel internally guilty afterwards. Also, there’s got to be some reason why Shelly Atwood’s voice keeps appearing in her mind, right? After all, those two characters look similar to each other. Hmm….

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

As much as I love Final Fantasy VII, they fucked up badly when they named one of Cloud Strife’s swords the Hard Edge. It’s a weapon that can be stolen from one of Shinra’s soldiers. But instead of saying that, my brother’s girlfriend at the time named Angela told me to, “Make them give you a Hard Edge”. I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I laughed like someone a fraction of my age when she said that. Those jokes just write themselves.

Thanks For the Creative Fuel, Asshole

CHORUS 1

While you’re ruling everything in your castle

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

VERSE 1

Every time you lay hands on me

Every time you haunt my TV

Every time my broken heart bleeds

You’re planting another artistic seed

I’m not in the business of staying down

I’m in the business of running the town

If it’s pen to paper or fist to chin

I’m already the favorite to win

CHORUS 2

While you’re making the whole world sick

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, dick!

VERSE 2

Art is a weapon and I’m the warrior, bitch

My words will leave you dead in the ditch

A traumatized mind and a body of bruises?

They mean nothing if my enemy loses

CHORUS 3

While you’re shopping for discount caskets

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, jackass!

VERSE 3

I don’t need a sword or automatic rifle

To leave my enemies in the highest pile

You do the work for me by being a clown

Lower than bathroom stains so brown

Lower than a sewer rat guzzling piss

Lower than the target you’re sure to miss

Lower than the ball bag of a venomous snake

I celebrate your doom with ice cream and cake

CHORUS 4

While you’re gifting me a number one hit

For every time you throw a fucking fit

For every throat that I want to slit

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, you little shit!

I’ve got to say one more time

Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

Street Sleeper

Johnny De Morgan’s pick strummed delicately across his guitar strings and created a heavenly lullaby for those walking the streets at night. He too could feel the heaviness of his eyelids and the quicksand-like pull underneath his body. Yet he continued to strum his beautiful melodies as the snow gently poured into his guitar case, barely a single gold coin occupying this space. Strangers walked by with their chins tucked into their chests, not giving Johnny the slightest glance.

The night sky blanketed the city in midnight shadows. Johnny wished he too had a blanket of some kind, but all that kept him minimally warm was his checkered overcoat, striped scarf, and thin layers underneath. He struggled to keep his fingers steady in this shiver-inducing weather. Sometimes his melodies would echo awkwardly across the street corner because of his shaking. Johnny stopped playing and gripped the neck of his guitar like he was actually strangling someone. He held the instrument above his head like he was going to smash the fucking thing to pieces.

“Johnny, no!” shouted a feminine voice off to the side. The busker’s eyes must have been too frosty to notice her at first, but that beautiful voice could have only belonged to the elven rogue Debra Lynch. Light green skin, thick layers of black wool, wavy blue hair, and a cap over her scalp: she was unmistakable at this point. She had the same weary and sorrowful expression in her damp eyes that Johnny did. That made her even more beautiful (not that Johnny would ever tell her something like that).

“Johnny, you can’t give up yet. You’ll freeze to death out here if you don’t keep playing,” begged Debra.

“I don’t know, Debra,” said Johnny with his head hung low. “Does it really matter anymore how good I am with this stupid thing? Nobody’s paying attention. Everybody just wants to walk on by like I’m some sort of fucking monster. Forget it, Debra, I’m done with this shit.”

“So what would you rather do? Starve to death?” pleaded Debra while cupping her hands over Johnny’s arm. “You don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s either this or death. Wait a minute…you’re not actually considering…” The elf’s voice grew shaky with those last few words.

“Like you said, Debbie-Cakes: I don’t have a choice in the matter,” said Johnny with more coldness than the snowflakes pounding down on him. “I can stand out here and freeze like a motherfucker playing for pennies…or I can just fall asleep in my own shallow grave. Never have to wake up again. Never have to deal with these ignorant people. Never have to worry about where my next meal’s coming from. Sounds like heaven to me.”

Debra smacked Johnny in the back of his head and messed up his black puffy hairdo. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about that nonsense again! If you just fuck off the face of this earth, what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? I need you, Johnny. We need each other!”

Tears welled up in Johnny’s frosty eyes as he said, “Sorry, I’m just a little frustrated, that’s all. God, what I wouldn’t do for a hot bowl of soup and a fucking blanket! Is that too much to ask for?!”

The argument came to an abrupt end when Johnny and Debra’s eyes zeroed in on a heavyset orc strutting down the streets. His leather armor, bloody war paint, and gigantic sword sheathed on his back gave him the aura of an undisputed champion. The burdensome sack of gold coins on his belt caused Johnny and Debra to snap awake with secretive excitement. Johnny strummed his guitar much more vigorously than before in hopes that the rock and roll music would entice this brutish warrior.

The orc attempted to skate on by, but Johnny and Debra blocked his path with the biggest of grins. Debra even rubbed her gloved fingers together to signify what she and her friend wanted. “Fuck off and die!” shouted the beastly warrior as he shoved Johnny into a row of rubbish bins.

“Hey!” belted Debra. “Who the hell do you think you are pushing a defenseless man like that?!” When the orc refused to listen, the elf grabbed him by the thick wrist and jerked him over for attention. “I’m talking to you, you gigantic sack of shit!”

“Debra, wait!” pleaded Johnny as he picked himself and his guitar off the ground. “That’s Link Rotunda! He’s a cage fighting champion! You’re not going to get any gold from him by calling him a sack of shit! Show some respect!”

Link’s rotten grin coincided with Debra’s fiery glare as the orc said, “That’s better! That’s what I like to see: people taking initiative!” He pointed his sausage index finger at Debra and said, “You could learn something from a guy like him!” The elf hmphed and folded her arms, never releasing her death stare from the gigantic bully. “Now then, where were we? Ah yes! You want some of this gold, sonny boy? You want to eat tonight? You’re going to have to earn it! Forget that stupid hipster guitar! You’re going to dance for your supper!”

“He will do no such thing!” grunted Debra before being held at bay by Link’s massive arm.

“What do you say, you sweet little boy? Are you going to dance or what?” asked Link with a devilish smirk. Despite Debra’s angry protests, Johnny tossed aside his guitar and danced around like a monkey attempting ballet. Link’s throaty laughter caused Debra to hold her face in her hands in sheer embarrassment. “Good one, good one! Now put the garbage can on your head! Do it, monkey boy!”

Sure enough, Johnny heaved a garbage can over himself and danced around some more, Debra shaking her head the entire time and Link laughing it up with a few knee slaps to boot. “How am I doing, Mr. Rotunda?”

“Oh, you’re doing great, my friend! You’re going to be a rich motherfucker in no time at all! Just one more thing and you’ll have all the gold you want! Take off that silly garbage can…and suck my dick!”

The monkey dancing was replaced with a frozen stillness and silent weeping underneath the garbage can. He slowly pulled off the bin and revealed an expression full of shock and despondency. “Is that what you really want, Mr. Rotunda? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

“This is bullshit!” shouted Debra as she picked up the fallen rubbish bin and tossed it at Link.

The orc slashed it in half with one wave of his newly unsheathed sword. Garbage scattered across the ground and blew away in the winter breeze. Johnny silently asked Debra what the fuck she was doing and elf stood her ground with clenched fists and a raw attitude.

Meanwhile, Link just laughed it off and said, “I guess you don’t really want hot soup after all. It’s a shame, because I could have given you more soup in that one BJ than any restaurant. It’s saltier too! And tastier! Or so I’ve been told!” Link sheathed his sword, waved goodbye, and chuckled, “Keep saving up!” He turned heel and strutted away until the nighttime shadows covered him completely.

Johnny’s cheeks quivered and his eyes cascaded as he struggled to say, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? He was our meal ticket!”

Debra’s angry breathing intensified to where this winter weather could be confused for a boiling summertime hell. She grabbed Johnny by his overcoat and shoved him against a brick wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” raged the elf. “Do you really think he was going to pay you all that money to humiliate yourself like that? Bullshit, he would have disappeared like a fart in the wind! I know you’re a homeless man looking for change, but you should never have to lower yourself like that just for a half ass chance at getting paid! I don’t care if Link Rotunda is the champion of the fucking universe! He’s a bully first and a humanitarian last! How do you think he wins so many of those fights?!”

Johnny snorted loose snot up his nose and swallowed before sobbing, “I’ll take a small chance of getting paid over no chance any day of the week.”

Debra slammed Johnny back first against the wall and raised her fist in the air as though she was ready to knock a few teeth loose. “I should turn that fucking face of yours inside out for saying shit like that! I should rip your brains out through your eye sockets and eat that for dinner instead of some poor man’s soup!”

Johnny De Morgan could feel his insides turning into jelly and his bladder and bowels loosening while anticipating the stinging fist that would eventually shatter his skull into snowflakes. The tension in his stomach made him ill. His skin turned pasty white. He shook harder than when he was struggling for warmth.

And then Debra said, “I’ve got a better idea than that” before showering her victim with a handful of golden coins. Johnny could finally breathe a heavy sigh of relief like a whirlwind of seething pain coming out of his mouth. His elf compatriot brushed his checkerboard coat off and said, “The only way you’ll ever eat with me tonight is if you never pull that shit again. You’re my best friend. I hate seeing you in pain like that. Link was never going to give you those gold coins, so I snatched them from him while he was busy laughing like a fucking hyena.”

Johnny and Debra embraced one another and gave their bodies enough warmth to last through two more winters. It wasn’t just physical warmth that Johnny felt throughout his body. It was that special warm fuzzy feeling of knowing his best friend had his back through thick and thin (even if she did scare the shit out of him). Johnny could picture the bowl of soup sliding down his throat and soothing his frosty wounds. Broccoli cheddar soup from a garlic bread bowl. Thank you, Mr. Rotunda. Thank you so much!

Dark Marriage

“Nice night for a black wedding, don’t you agree?” grinned Kain Venomtongue as he gently caressed Sheryl Sweet’s ball-gagged face with the back of his fingers. The frigid wind brushed its way across the top of the ziggurat and lifted Sheryl’s wedding dress a few inches. With her wrists and ankles bound to a horizontal metal cross, the dress would be the only thing flying free that night. Standing on either side of the temple stairs was a chorus of anthropomorphic cobras reciting hymns and flicking their tongues. The groom-to-be looked every bit as serpentine as his brethren with his monstrous face and green scaly flesh, most of which was covered by a dark sorcerer’s robe.

Sheryl Sweet struggled in her bindings and let out a few “Mmph’s” through her gag, but not even a barbarian’s strength could unseal her fate. The bride’s wide eyes and hysteria remained a stark contrast to Kain’s villainous smile as the necromancer pulled a jagged blade from his robes and recited hymns alongside the snake men. “Ashes to ashes,” he chanted. “Dust to dust. We are forever bound by Satan’s flames. Not even God nor his angels shall interfere with this dark marriage. Those who dare ascend the staircase invite the stench of death itself. If any mere mortal wishes to object to this sacred tradition, speak now or forever hold your tongue!”

As if on cue, a sharp steel presence descended from the night sky and slashed one of the snake men in half vertically, sending a storm of blood across the staircase and prompting Sheryl Sweet to scream like a mad woman possessed. “What the hell is this?!” Kain shouted, to which a blur of surgical steel whirred across the staircase, shredding, eviscerating, and disemboweling any snake monk in its path. Slithering screams echoed across the starlit night as the bloody rain continued to descend down the ziggurat. Pieces of flesh were carried away by the evening breeze. Organs sloshed and splashed until the satanic structure resembled a slaughterhouse. Every cobra minion lay in pieces with those fortunate enough to be alive regretting their decision to live.

Sheryl gazed in wide-eyed horror at the violence before her. Her ghostly shrieks were reduced to sobbing whimpers. Kain brushed her face with his fingertips and whispered, “Don’t worry, my love. This ceremony shall continue one way or another.” His promise to the bride was sealed with a delicate kiss on her sweaty forehead. He even licked one of her tears away, but once that was gone, more came flooding down her face.

The “tender” moment was interrupted by the sounds of a bird warrior pantomiming vomiting. The owner of the tainted blade knelt at the top of the staircase to further his act before breathing heavily and wiping his mouth off with his feathered arm. The bird man rose to his feet and revealed himself to be wearing red and blue ninja gear, which complimented his golden (albeit bloody) feathers.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more nauseated, you go and pull that shit,” barked the bird man while accusingly pointing his blade at Kain. “There ain’t going to be no black wedding or dark marriage or whatever the fuck this is called. I’m Ronan Crow and it’s my job to bring the woman back home where she belongs. So unless you want to get force fucked with three feet of steel, I believe now is the time to remove her bindings. And for fuck’s sake, take that disgusting gag out of her mouth!”

Kain Venomtongue took a deep swallow, held his hands up defensively, and pleaded, “I think you’re making a big mistake, my friend.”

“No!” Ronan belted. “You made the mistake of bringing this bitch out here and trying to marry her! Look at her, she’s fucking terrified! It’s men like you that make me afraid to have daughters of my own! Come on, Miss Sweet, you’re coming back home to the king.” With Kain backing up several feet, Ronan approached the metal cross and slashed the bindings off in quick fashion.

Sheryl stood up and removed her ball gag before shaking her head at Ronan and shoving him lightly. “Are you fucking insane?!”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” said a silver-tongued Ronan. “Now hurry up and get on my back before Kain Slobbertongue over here takes three more Viagra and makes a move on you again.”

Sheryl slapped the bird warrior across the face and said, “You’re an idiot! You’re a goddamn idiot! This whole black wedding was my idea!”

“You’re kidding me…” said Ronan with wide eyes.

“No, I’m not!” shouted Sheryl while stomping her foot. “When you bring me back to my father’s castle, what do you think is going to happen? He’s just going to marry me off to some loser so that he can have more land and more riches for himself! I chose Kain over here because he’s a true gentleman! He’s fun! He’s adventurous! And kinky as hell! I mean, look at him!”

“Yeah, I’m looking at him alright. He’s definitely a catch. I don’t know how anybody could pass up a handsome stud like that,” said Ronan, oozing with sarcasm and shaking his sword at the necromancer.

“Oh, this?” asked Kain nervously. “This isn’t my real face. It’s just makeup.” He wiped away his scaly face and skin with the sleeve of his robe to reveal a youthful elf underneath with flowing black hair, golden piercings, and a soul patch underneath his chin. “And just so you know, those snakes you killed weren’t really snakes at all. Those were my friends. They too were wearing makeup and costumes. The black wedding theme was mostly their idea. And Sheryl’s too since she’s really into bondage.” Sheryl giggled and blushed at that last comment.

“Well, if you miss your wonderful fucking friends that much, why don’t you bring them back to life or some shit like that. You’re a necromancer. Do something!” yelled Ronan.

“Congratulations, bird brain,” said Sheryl while pointing a finger in Ronan’s face. “You proved once again that you have the IQ of an orange peel. Kain isn’t a necromancer, dummy. He’s a neck romancer. See? There’s a difference.” She brushed back her raven hair to reveal a hickey on the side of her neck.

Ronan roared like a lion before shoving his sword into the floor and belting, “Enough! Enough of this bullshit! The two of you make me fucking sick to my stomach! Why in the hell would anybody think hickeys and ball gags and crucifixions are sexy?! What woman on the face of this earth actually gets wet to something like that?! What grown man would ever get a hard-on to it?! This is some fucked up repugnant shit right here! I ought to kill both of you right now and spare the king the disappointment in having a bratty daughter!”

“Listen to me, you dumb shit!” shouted Sheryl as she pointed a finger in his chest.

“Back off, bitch!” barked Ronan while swatting her down on the floor with his feathery arm. Kain tried to rush him, but the bird warrior pulled out his sword and held him at distance. The “neck romancer” could smell the vile stench of blood radiating off of that horrible weapon. “You are a sick little turd, Kain Venomtongue. You’re a pervert and you’re probably a pedophile too! Maybe you shouldn’t take Sheryl home with you anyways! I’m pretty sure she’s too old for you!”

Kain dropped to his knees and recited a Satanic prayer before Ronan tapped his head with the flat end of his blade and said, “Oh no, buddy! None of that hocus pocus shit is going to save you now! You’re dead, you filthy creepy! You’re goddamn dead!”

Kain tucked his head further into his chest ready for death to come take him away. He could hear the sword wooshing around in the air and it made his heart beat faster and his blood run cold. His forehead sweated profusely, but he continued to pray to his demonic god. The close the blade came to touching his face, the louder his prayers. With one last “amen”, the sword was ready to come down on his neck.

The woosh of steel slashing was replaced with a heavy thud followed by avian feet shuffling about. Kain lifted his head up and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ronan Crow, with a lump on his head, rolling and tripping down the ziggurat stairs. Bones cracked, feathers flew, and squawks created a symphony of cacophony across the empty sky. These satisfyingly violent sounds went on for as long as the stairs would allow them to. And then there was silence; complete deathly silence, save for one final squawk until Ronan came face to face with Satan himself.

Kain grinned at the sight of his lover holding her ball gag like a pair of brass knuckles. The feathers and blood pasted to the rubber ball were badges of honor to her and proof she was no damsel in distress. Kain happily leapt to his feet and hugged his bride, though she responded with tears instead of reciprocated happiness.

“He ruined our wedding, Kain. He fucking ruined it,” Sheryl sobbed.

“Forget the wedding, my darling,” slithered Kain. “A wedding is just an event. True love can never be broken apart.” He kissed her forehead and said, “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” The two of them made out together before Kain said in between kisses, “Darling…you were wonderful tonight!”

Through It All

Even though the armor-donning orc Elijah Heartland was built like a brick wall, the Master Judge always knew how to make his body feel microscopic and his testicles feel like shards of glass. Towering over Elijah at eight and a half feet tall, the golden-armored and powder-wigged Master Judge held his oversized war hammer over the orc’s head as easily as a pool cue and gave him a shiver-worthy evaluation.

“I must say, Elijah,” boomed Master Judge in a god-like voice. “You’ve excelled tremendously during the physical tests to becoming a paladin. Then again, such barbaric violence is always to be expected from a member of your race. You have the strength of a thousand warriors, but not the intelligence or wisdom of them. Ever since these trials began, you’ve been nothing short of an embarrassment to yourself. Your hair-trigger temper and dagger tongue have gotten you into more trouble than you’re worth. I should consider failing you right now!”

Thunder and lightning punctuated the Master Judge’s recent words, which sent Elijah backpedaling on his ass. The gigantic knight continued, “But instead I’ve opted to give you one final test: to confront the scathing ghost of your past. If you successfully complete this test, you will become a paladin and your prison sentence will be expunged. If you don’t, you will rot in solitary confinement for the rest of your waste life. And to think, all of this hateful violence was over a woman. Heh…a woman. Pull yourself together, you imbecile, or this will be the last time you see the light of day!”

A final bolt of lightning crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Without his massive frame to cover Elijah’s field of view, the orc gazed upon the test that lied before him: a heavenly white marble staircase with black hooded ghosts lining either side of it. He wondered if he would become acrophobic at such great heights.

Whatever fear Elijah previously had from being emasculated by the Master Judge disappeared when he stood back up and spit on the ground. He drew his sword thinking he would need it by the time he got to the top. Perhaps he could cut down these hooded ghosts and flee the scene? No, too risky. It wasn’t worth being locked in solitary confinement until the day he died. With furrowed brows and clenched fangs, the orc took his sweet time in ascending the marble stairs.

To his surprise, the ghosts just stood there chanting religious hymns instead of just pounding on him. The Master Judge said it best when he iterated Elijah had the strength of a thousand warriors, but even that wouldn’t be worth banking on against these freaks. The flight of stairs seemed to go on forever, like Elijah had been walking on a conveyor belt. His muscled legs refused to give out, especially when a golden ray of light grew brighter as he neared the top.

What Elijah saw at the platform caused him to lick his lips with violent lust and sharpen his sword with the corner of the stairs: a woman in orange monk’s robes on her knees with shackles pinning her arms to the ground and a black hood over her head. No matter how intensely she struggled, she couldn’t free herself. “You’re making this too easy, Master Judge!” shouted Elijah when he approached the woman and ripped the bag off of her head.

The orc’s scaly green skin turned as white as the marble staircase when he saw who was under the hood. “No…no, this isn’t happening! Shiva?! Is that you?!”

Shiva Terkai was the name given to the purple-haired, porcelain-faced lady who peeked up at Elijah with begging sorrowful eyes. “Please, Elijah. Help me. Don’t leave me here to die.”

Elijah Heartland chuckled and scoffed, “Leave you here to die? The irony is killing me, babe. I wish I had the right to say that when you ran away with that goofy looking shit-weasel you call a human! You ripped my heart out that day, Shiva. I should really be thanking you, though, for making me open my eyes and see the world for the hellhole it is. You human women are all the fucking same!”

“It’s not my fault you turned out this way, Elijah!” belted Shiva. “There’s no rule that says you have to go on a rampage every time some girl breaks your heart! There are other women out there! I bet you would have found one and gotten married if you hadn’t ended up in prison!”

“You would have done the same thing if I found another hot sexy woman while we were dating! I don’t expect you to understand what a broken heart does to people, because you never had a fucking heart to begin with! You think infidelity is okay?! I’m an orc and even I get disgusted by that shit!” shouted Elijah.

“Don’t act like you’re the saint around here! If you hadn’t gone on that rampage when we broke up, you would have done it for some other stupid reason! Your skull is thicker than a fucking brick! You have the temper of a goddamn five year old! How do you expect me to live with someone like you?! Running off with that other man? It would have happened sooner or later, but it didn’t happen soon enough!” snapped Shiva as she wrestled in her shackles some more.

“Why you!” stormed Elijah as he raised his sword to the sky and caused Shiva to flinch. His muscles twitched and pulsated, his pores released a floodgate of sweat, and his fangs could have chewed through stone with how hard he chomped down. This was his chance to exact revenge upon the woman who “drove him nuts”. One slash and her head would roll down the stairs like a keg of whiskey. The seconds he spent frozen in this position seemed to go on forever.

“What are you waiting for, Elijah!” screamed a familiar godly voice. The orc turned his head and saw the Master Judge standing only a few stairs behind him with his arms folded and his steel booted foot tapping. “Go ahead and kill her already! Save us the time of actually having to rehabilitate you into a righteous human being! It’ll be fun watching you squirm and sizzle in solitary confinement!”

Elijah sweated and trembled some more before the Master Judge and his ghost minions removed their hoods. The orc’s eyebrows shot sky high and his eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon when he saw that underneath their hoods, they too were orcs. Scaly skin, wide noses, razor-sharp fangs, but a somehow milder stench than what Elijah was used to. The criminal gulped hard as he still had a decision to make involving the sword in his hands.

“I don’t have all fucking day, Elijah! Kill her already!” shouted the Master Judge. His orc friends chanted, “Kill her!” in succession like they were at a sports bar. The blade was raised, Shiva’s eyes grew damp, and Elijah’s muscles twitched even harder. And then, the blade came down like a bolt of lightning, a heavenly judgment for a “sinful” woman. Except the blade didn’t come down on her neck. He slashed one of the shackles in half and proceeded to slash the other, freeing her from bondage.

The two former lovers hugged it out and dampened each other’s shoulders with tears of joy. The Master Judge, on the other hand, had a face full of red hot lava and the trembling temper of a berserker. By drawing his thumb across his own throat, he signaled for his robed orc cohorts to charge up the stairs and finish the job themselves.

Elijah and Shiva got into their fighting stances and cut the ghostly orcs off at the top of the stairs. Elijah swung his blade at his opponents with rapid precision and a barbarian’s might, severing arms, legs, and heads while turning their bodies into blood bombs. One of the orcs threw a hatchet into Elijah’s arm and caused him to roar in pain. The fiery agony surged through his body for only a few seconds as he ripped it out, licked up the blood like a kissing lover, and slashed that minion’s throat with the same hatchet.

Shiva was a martial artist by nature and threw lightning quick punches and kicks at her opponents, shattering ribs and splitting skulls. Bodies rolled down the stairs and shattered even more bones on the sharp corners.  One of the minions managed to catch her in a bear hug, but she stamped the heel of her foot down on his toes and crunched them all to force his release. She delivered the final blow in the form of a back elbow to the jaw before throwing him across a group of orcs and watching them tumble down the stairs.

Body parts, shattered bones, and squishy organs decorated these once beautiful marble stairs until one orc minion remained. Elijah and Shiva nodded at each other before they both ganged up on him with a stab to the gut and a flying knee to the chest. The final minion sloshed onto the stairs like a puddle of violent pudding. “Enough!” shouted the Master Judge as he held out his hand and collected the spiritual essences of each ghost warrior under his command. Glowing white energy took the place of blood and body parts as it gathered into a silver orb in his hand until the stairs reverted back to their old beauty.

“I told you what was going to happen, Elijah, and by gods be damned, you’re going to get it!” belted the Master Judge as he held out his gigantic war hammer. Elijah and Shiva both stood back in their defensive positions expecting the Master Judge to smash them into bloody morsels. The two even held hands while Shiva whispered, “I’m sorry” and Elijah whispered back, “Me too.” The war hammer was raised high in the sky and brought down in a thunderous fury.

“Congratulations! You’ve passed the final test. I dub thee Sir Elijah Heartland,” said the Master Judge in a gentle voice as he knighted his criminal apprentice with the war hammer. Elijah and Shiva gazed up at their overlord in confusion rather than feeling instant elation. The Master Judge explained, “The paladin trials are just as much of an emotional challenge as they are physical. By sparing Shiva Terkai’s life, you’ve shown her forgiveness. Being able to forgive your enemies is a stronger feat than anything you can do with that blade of yours. The only time you needed that blade was to defend an innocent victim, which you’ve done a marvelous job of. This is what being a paladin is all about: knowing when to strike and when to forgive. Even under my harshest words, you’ve demonstrated that wisdom to a fault. You’re free to go, my friend. May you always walk in the light.”

A lightning bolt crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Elijah and Shiva to stare at each other in awe and wonder. Shiva tried to hold her former lover’s hands, but he pushed them away and said, “We can never have what we used to have. What’s in the past should stay in the past. But if you want, I can walk you home just this one time. After that, we both go our separate ways. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” whispered Shiva while she hung her head. “But if you don’t mind…would it be okay if we…held hands while we walked home? I swear we’ll both go our separate ways, but just this once?”

Elijah sighed, “Sure, why not? Come on, let’s leave this place.” Sure enough the two of them locked their fingers together and descended the marble stairs slowly and carefully. They picked up their pace once the gray clouds gathered overhead and sprinkled some much needed cold rain on their sore skins.

Wal-Martians

“Tell me again how this is different from any other day at Wal-Mart?” asked the metal-armored Amazon Alexis Lee as she stamped the butt of her spear into the pavement.

“You’ve been making that joke for hours, Alexis. Knock it off. Yes, we’re well aware that Wal-Mart has been taken over by these…creatures, if you want to call them that. We know how ironic it truly is. We still have a job to do whether you think it’s hilarious or not,” said the aura-covered paladin Micah Fireborn as he swung his sword in the air to warm up his muscles.

“Can we just get in there and rescue Lady Sakura already? This place gives me the fucking creeps,” said the muscle-bound, kilt-wearing barbarian Cain McLeod, who sharpened his double-edged axe with a stone. “Not one more joke out of you, Alexis!”

“Please? Just one more? What do you call a bunch of zealots who will die for a supermarket? Wal-Martyrs!” chuckled Alexis while her two companions sighed and held their faces in their free hands. “Come on, you have to admit that was good!”

“The hell I do!” belted Cain. “Can we please just start the damn mission and get that fucking religious nut out of there?”

“Fine, fine, you guys win. I guess killing will be funny enough,” frowned Alexis.

The three warriors marched their way through the parking lot knowing the fun and games were over and the ass beatings were about to commence. They pounded their weapon handles, let out short roars, and slapped their own faces to psych themselves up. When they reached the automatic double doors, they gagged and wheezed at the sight of green alien goop sealing the hinges together. “I got this,” said Micah Fireborn as he ignited his sword with an aura of fire and chopped through the slime with ease, splattering some on Alexis and Cain.

Alexis could barely tolerate the rancid stench, but Cain spewed his dinner all over the pavement while the Amazon giggled and the paladin shook his head at him. Cain wiped his mouth off with his leather gloves and pointed at Alexis before commanding, “Don’t you start with those jokes again! I mean it!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus, I won’t make anymore puns. You happy now? God!” whined Alexis. The three warriors kicked down the glass doors and chopped away at any remaining slime paste. Cain nearly emptied his bowels yet again when he saw that a drained human was underneath one of the slime piles. Micah grabbed him by the arm and jerked him into the store.

“See? What did I tell you guys?” asked Alexis rhetorically as the three fighters took in the surreal scenery of the invaded superstore. Skeletons and green slime decorated the floors, walls, and ceiling while the actual food items had mushrooms growing out of them. Legos were scattered across the floor and had blood sprinkled over some of them, most likely due to somebody stepping on them in bare feet. The assault rifle rack was useless since the barrels were dripping with this awful snot-like substance.

The warriors treaded lightly around the store and made sure to huddle together so they didn’t get separated. So far, no sign of the enemy, just lots and lots of snot, shit, and urine flooding the store. Just a tiny drop of this viscous substance landed on Cain’s nose and he immediately dropped to his knees dry heaving his guts out.

“For the love of God, Cain, get it together!” snapped Micah. “If you don’t like the smell of this stuff, why did you agree to this mission to begin with? You’re a barbarian, for shit’s sake! Suck it up, buttercup!”

“Trust me, Micah, he won’t be sucking that stuff up anytime soon,” joked Alexis, who afterwards raised her hands defensively when Micah and Cain scowled at her.

The stomach juices were really going haywire when the slime moved across the floor to various clothing items, whether it be ‘Murica T-shirts, jorts with holes in them, or Make America Great Again baseball caps. Micah, Alexis, and the newly recovered Cain backed up against the wall with home improvement tools and stood strong as the goo filled up these clothes until they were in the shape of alien creatures. Their whip-like tongues and tentacles swung from side to side in anticipation of their human meals.

Cain wasn’t vomiting anymore, Alexis wasn’t cracking jokes anymore, and Micah…well, he was the only serious one around. The three warriors stood their ground while Cain used his free hand to signal the aliens forward. “Come on, you fucking Wal-Martians! Let’s make ass-kicking great again!”

The aliens swarmed on the three heroes and were treated to high speed and high power chops, slashes, and pierces from each of their weapons. Alexis stuck her spear into one giant tub of goo and slammed the creature into others, creating a tidal wave of sick fluids in her wake. Cain spun around like a buzz saw with his axe and cleaved through hordes of aliens, turning their bodies into puddles of gelatin. Micah’s fiery sword cut through even more hordes of aliens and melted them to the point of boiling and steaming over the already thick Wal-Mart air.

“Is that all you got?!” taunted Cain while an alien wrapped its massive tentacle around Alexis’s legs and dragged her screaming across the filthy floor. When she dropped her spear and yelled for help, the barbarian shouted back, “I’ll save you, Alexis!” and dove after her. His end result was getting tackled in the ribs and sent flying across a shelf full of Lego sets.

Micah stabbed his flaming sword into the aliens repeatedly until they melted into a river of trash. His back was turned for one small second and an alien wrapped its tentacle around his throat before dragging him across the floor kicking and gurgling, leaving his blade behind. In the midst of his capture, he could see another tentacle wrapping itself around Cain’s body and pulling him as well.

The mass of alien humanity melded into one gigantic squid-like being, complete with more tentacles, more razor-sharp mouths, and more sickening slime that had Cain sticking his tongue out and heaving once again. Through this pool of disgust, not one warrior could get a good look at who was commanding this gigantic creature. All they heard was a raspy voice command, “Join us! Join my army and let us ride into heaven together!”

“You call this heaven?!” shouted Alexis. “I’d rather have the devil himself shove a fiery trident up my ass than go to your version of heaven!”

The tentacles squeezed harder around her legs and caused her to shriek in mind-blowing pain. The creature said, “So you must be the funny one of the group. You’re the one who likes to laugh at other people’s beliefs. You’re the one who likes to laugh at the prayers of the holy ones! I will not have such blasphemy in my church!”

“Church, my ass, you sick freak!” shouted Micah as he pulled some of the slime away from his neck. “Sakura Divine is more of a priest than you’ll ever be! She’ll be the one who guides us to heaven! Last time I checked, heaven didn’t look like a big ass used Kleenex!”

“You’re absolutely right!” belted the creature as she cinched the tentacle tighter around Micah’s neck. “Sakura Divine is quite the leader. She has the answers for us all. You’ve been listening to them the whole time!”

The faces of the warriors grew sullen as they realized what had just been revealed. Cain murmured, “No…no, it’s not true! You’re Sakura Divine?! You’re the one we came to save?!” After a demonic laughter from the slimy creature, Cain roared at Micah, “This is all your fault, you fucking altar boy! I told you we shouldn’t have trusted this religious whacko!”

Insulted by the “blasphemous” display, Sakura squeezed her tentacle around Cain’s ribs even harder than before while other tentacles joined in to squish him like a grape. Alexis screamed and hollered for mercy, but Cain’s body exploded into jelly once the constriction became too tight. “You sick little bitch!” Alexis shouted. “How could you do this to us?!” She too was squeezed by multiple tentacles until her body went kaboom like a nuclear warhead.

“No!” Micah shouted while struggling to break free from Sakura’s grip.

“Don’t fight it, Micah!” ordered Lady Divine. “You’re a noble paladin, a warrior of the light. You should know better than anybody how good heaven will feel once you walk past the pearly gates. End the struggle, my dear friend. Let the magic of heaven flow through your veins.”

“I’ll never join you!” shouted Micah.

“Don’t think too hard about your decision, paladin!” mocked Sakura. “I crushed your two friends because they were not worthy of such a trip into space. But you, Micah, you were destined for greatness. As of right now, you have two options: you can rot here forever in your own personal hell, or you can join me in my spaceship and we can rule over heaven together!”

Micah stopped struggling for a moment and actually had to think about this decision. He replayed both of his friends being crushed into gelatin in his head like a nagging schizophrenic vision. His mind went numb, his eyes became teary, and his body was relaxing. Being pasted to the ground of an already joked-about store like Wal-Mart was the true definition of hell. What if Sakura was right? What if heaven was waiting for him in that space ship?

“You know what, Sakura? I’m with you on one thing. I don’t want to go to hell tonight. But you will!” roared Micah as he activated his fiery aura to melt away the tentacle around his throat. Sakura screamed while the rancid goop melted down Micah’s nose and throat. He coughed and vomited several times, but he could feel the flame surge through him. He could feel his insides burning with passion and holiness. He stood up and shined his flaming aura even brighter until the entire store was covered in it. Sakura’s gelatinous form liquefied like butter…but only because that was what happened during hallucinatory trips.

In reality, Micah’s insides were burning for a much different reason: he swallowed the acidic mess. His brain cycled through different parts of the slimy battle whether he was in danger or fighting alongside his friends. His head was pounding with agony so badly that it felt like he was being smashed with a sledgehammer. His chest and stomach felt like he was going to through up so badly that he would turn himself inside out.

This was what it felt like to betray his religion and follow his own path. He was going to hell no matter what. But even with all of this pain wracking his body, he felt like he was already in heaven since he would be joining Cain and Alexis soon. They could crack all of the jokes they wanted and nobody would break them. Sakura may have shredded their bodies, but their souls were free. Was it worth the pain? Always. Even in death, Micah, Cain, and Alexis would make the afterlife great again.

Zombie

“Read me the summary on this one,” said Gail Reinhold, a red trench coat donning paladin with a sword slung over her back and a good reason to use it most of the time. In this holy church of Paladine with oak-smelling pews and beautifully-lit stained glass windows, it was just her and Deacon Simms, the latter of which held the clipboard with all of the information Gail needed.

Simms flipped through the pages and read out loud, “The subject’s name is Mattie Dent. She’s a 25-year-old space mercenary with a rap sheet that includes murder, aggravated mayhem, drug trafficking, and manslaughter. She was taken to the basement of our church because she overdosed on combat drugs and has become violent with our fellow priests.”

The dark-skinned, black afro-haired deacon flipped back to the front page and shook his head no before saying, “I have to be honest with you, Gail. This woman seems like a lost cause. The basement is supposed to be a place where drug addicts can get clean. Miss Dent is so far gone that she doesn’t know what she wants anymore, except to beat up more of our priests.”

“Is she safely secured?” asked Gail.

“Indeed she is. She’s strapped to one of the beds right now with everything that’s capable of holding somebody down. We’ve got chains, leather belts, handcuffs, nylon wrappings, the works. She’s going to have to be bound down until all of the drugs are out of her system. Even then, she could still be dangerous given her criminal history.”

Gail placed a comforting hand on Simms’ shoulder and said, “You should know me better than that by now. This is my church and as long as it is, I will not give up on anyone who comes here. This Mattie Dent may be somewhat of a project for me, but I’ve had tough clients come here before with worse problems.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Deacon Simms.

The paladin hung her head in contemplation for a moment and said, “Trust me on this one, Simms. I don’t give up and I don’t lose. She’ll come around eventually. If she’s a deadly warrior like you say she is, then there might be a possibility of her joining our ranks as a paladin.”

“I hope up and down to God above that you’re right about this one, Gail. If not, we’ve got a lot of problems on our hands.”

The two church officials crossed themselves before Gail proceeded to make her way to the basement. She was walking much slower than usual as if she allowed the gory details of Mattie Dent’s file get in her head. Then again, the other thing currently occupying space in her head was the mantra of not giving up and never losing. Cautious though she may be, Gail was deemed ready for whatever was waiting downstairs.

The entry to the basement was hidden behind a bookcase full of old religious texts. Descending those stony stairs gave most people chills up and down their spines, darkness aside. Climbing into the unknown wasn’t nearly as scary as passing through the thick wooden door. Calling the basement a dungeon wasn’t appropriate given the church’s good intentions, but that didn’t make things any less frightening.

In a dimly lit room full of empty beds, crucifixes, refrigerators, and bookshelves, the one bed that stood out the most was the one containing the zombie-like Mattie Dent, who was covered in every wrapping known to man as Deacon Simms pointed out. The thick-skulled, ratty-haired warrior stared into the ceiling with neon green eyes and a series of low growling hums to herself. She truly did look like she was brought back from the dead.

Gail Reinhold tiptoed over to the drugged out mercenary and spoke to her in a gentle whisper. “Good morning, Miss Dent. I’m Gail and I’ll be your counselor for the day.”

Even a hardened warrior like Gail was jumpy when Mattie let out a monstrous roar accompanied by wolf-like chomps from her powerful jaw. The groans were getting more intense with the holy fighter’s presence before Mattie yelled, “Get these fucking straps off of me, you disgusting street whore! I don’t belong here! I have a paycheck to collect and asses to beat! You can either unhook me from this goddamn bed or I’ll break free myself and snap your ass in half!”

The whirlwind of growling curse words caused Gail’s heart to race and her head to lighten. She had seen a lot of crazy things in her day, but this was the first time she met someone with such an overwhelming amount of aggression. Gail was a fighter by nature, so that was saying something.


And because she was a fighter, she had no choice but to steel her spine and stare Mattie down with deadly eyes herself. “Listen, Miss Dent. I want to help you in whatever way I can. But if you continue to sweat at me and make threats, I’ll have to keep you in your binds indefinitely. You caught me off guard for a little while, but if you think I’m going to run away from someone like you, you’re dead wrong. Now tell me, Mattie, how many combat drugs did you take at once?”

The drug zombie chomped and roared once more as she struggled with her bindings. Her answer in no uncertain terms was, “I took a whole shit-load of drugs! I love drugs! I love sex! And I love rock and roll! Not necessarily in that order!”

“Shut up!” snapped Gail, which seemed to hold Mattie’s silent attention for a while. “The more you fight the system, the harder the system is going to fight back. I don’t care who you are or what kind of life you lead. Physical combat will only take you so far. But if you think you’re going to battle with the world and you’re going to win, then you’ve got some serious waking up to do, little girl. You’re in my care now, sister. I don’t take excuses and I don’t give handouts. If you fail this drug program, I will not hesitate to turn you over to the authorities. Do you understand me?”

“Shove it up your ass, bitch!” growled Mattie as she thrashed and slashed some more. Gail folded her arms and watched this pathetic attempt at freedom unfold before her. The paladin could just stand there and stare daggers all day long while the mercenary roared and thrashed about. And then the miracle of all miracles happened: Mattie relaxed into her bed and started crying her eyes out, her tears goopy and thick.

“It’s okay to cry, Mattie,” said Gail, who still maintained a stoic presence. “You’re not the first one to do it and you won’t be the last. Given everything you’ve been through in your life, I’d be worried about you if you weren’t crying. But know this: your tears are not a Get Out of Jail Free card. While I am not without sympathy, I am without weakness. I don’t give up on my clients now matter how erratic they become. If you want to get out of this mess, then I expect you to show the same courage. Agreed?”

After a few more sobs, Mattie said, “You church people are all the same. You think you can change the world just by preaching lines from a stupid book. Your god may be real to you, but for me, the only thing that’s real is the paycheck I get from stomping heads in the ground.”

“Well,” said Gail. “That’s going to have to change if you want to…”

“You’re damn right I did those drugs!” shouted Mattie as she struggled some more. “I did those drugs because I want to win! I want to kick ass! I want to burn the world to the ground! But more importantly than that…I want to burn this whole goddamn church to the ground with it!”

The psychotic drug zombie gave one more trash and snapped her bindings like the bones of her many victims. She was free and started to sit up, while Gail backed up slowly in horror. The paladin drew her sword and activated a magical lightning current around the blade. She’d been put into situations where she had fight viciously, but never had Gail killed one of her patients before. She was determined not to start at that moment.

Mattie leapt from the bed only to be met with a stream of lightning shooting into her chest. With any luck, her heart rate would slow down and she’d fall asleep. The only effect Gail’s magic had, however, was slowing down the drug zombie’s walking speed. The holy warrior threw a more powerful stream of lightning. And another. And another.

Her bolts became progressively stronger, but it didn’t matter to Mattie, who backhanded Gail’s sword away and lunged for the paladin with huge monster hands. The paladin scrambled on the floor in an attempt to retrieve her sword, but she was kicked in the ass and sent flying over one of the beds.

Mattie was feeling so powerful in her green, muscular, drugged-out body that she beat her chest repeatedly with iron fists before letting out another terrifying growl at Gail. The paladin rolled over on her ass and crab-walked backwards out of fear for being eaten alive by this lunatic. With no sword, it appeared as though Gail was done for.

The mercenary leaped toward her prey like a tiger and was ready to devour her. Mattie then had a thick blanket thrown in her face and she was struggling to get it off her head. Gail’s newfound courage allowed her to stand up again and go around the beds throwing blankets and comforters over Mattie’s head. The angry mercenary was so enraged that her intensity built up as she tried to unwrap the blinding laundry from her screaming head.

Mattie then grabbed the sheets all at once and ripped them in half like a pro-wrestler with his shirt, growls and rage included. She looked around and saw that Gail was running toward her fallen blade once again. In this heated race for the steel weapon, Mattie had her monstrous hands held high and was ready to wrap them around her counselor’s throat. Just one squeeze and Gail would burst like a pimple.

But there was no squeeze, only a hard impalement through Mattie’s stomach from a lightning enchanted sword. Gail held onto the hilt of the blade and pumped more electricity through Mattie’s body, causing huge explosions of yellow puss and blue blood everywhere. The basement was beginning to look more dungeon-like with every burst. And then the drug zombie melted into a puddle of multi-colored bile and flooded the floors with her biological slop. She died in the most disgusting way possible.

Gail never had to kill one of her own patients before and knowing she did just that caused her eyes to bulge, her skin to sweat, her breathing to hasten, and her legs to weaken. She took a seat on one of the beds as tears poured from her eyes. She may have defeated her toughest opponent to date, but this was no victory for her.

The sounds of light footsteps came down the stairs and Deacon Simms sheepishly poked his head through the doorway. “Is everything alright down here?”

Through a sobbing voice, Gail answered, “No!”

“Why not?”

“I…I failed her, Simms. I thought I could change her. I’ve never given up hope on anyone before. She gave me no choice and I had to kill her. I can’t be a member of this church anymore, it’s impossible.”

Simms tiptoed his way around the flood of bodily fluids and digested combat drugs in order to sit next to Gail. He allowed her to rest her head in his lap while he stroked her long raven hair. “Some people don’t want to change, Gail. The only way you can ever help someone is if they want to help themselves. Mattie Dent clearly never wanted help. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.”

“But…I’ve never lost before, Simms. I’ve always stayed with the people who came here.”

Deacon Simms patted Gail Reinhold on the head and said, “Anybody can lose just one time, Gail. Nobody goes through life undefeated. Sometimes, you can’t reform people who don’t want to be reformed. Sometimes…you just have to kill them. God gave you that sword for a reason, Gail: because one of these days, you’re going to have to use it again. And again. And again.”

Sage Against the Machine

Caitlin Sparks was a one woman wrecking crew, yet she couldn’t overthrow an entire oppressive government by herself. She wasn’t always alone. She had many comrades to help her in her quest to overthrow Dark-Law, Jr., a powerful sorcerer who unlike his father used futuristic technology rather than medieval magic to take over this world. One by one, each of Caitlin’s warriors fell by the zap of a laser, a burst of a flamethrower, or a bullet from a depleted uranium rifle. If she had a dime for every tear she cried since then, she’d be an oligarch.

Her only hope for completing her rebellion against the unjust dictatorship rested within the hands of an elderly sage named Eli Magruder. After slashing her way through several drones and armored soldiers with her oversized sword, Caitlin finally located the wise one’s temple. Except it didn’t look much like a temple. It was more like a brick compound with various runes carved into the walls, some of them spray painted like graffiti.

The rebel warrior scratched her raven pony tailed head in confusion as to whether or not she was actually at the right address. For all she knew, Eli Magruder could just be a ghost and the whole thing could be one huge trap. She shrugged her shoulders and walked tiredly across the dirt field with only lightning bolts from the gray sky to illuminate her way. It had been a long journey complete with battles, loss, and general exhaustion. There better be a fucking sage here, Caitlin thought to herself.

Once she trekked past the dirt field, she dragged herself up the stone stairs to the front entrance and knocked on the rickety wooden doors, both of which falling off with the slightest of contact. Some temple, Caitlin said in her mind. The interior of the building was pitch black until a flame path lit up in front of her, leading to a seven-foot tall mountain of a man with a scraggly white beard, a black tank top, and brown khakis. Worst of all, he was wearing a black sheep’s mask. Not what anybody would call sagely, but Caitlin Sparks decided to play long…for now.

She carefully walked along the fiery path and approached the man she perceived as the wise Eli Magruder, who was sitting in a wooden rocking chair with even more languidness than shell-shocked Caitlin. The sword slinger got on one knee and bowed to her sage in a show of respect. Or fear, depending on how creepy this man really was.

“You must be Caitlin,” said Eli in a gravelly monster voice. “You’ve come a long way just to see me. I’ve been expecting you. If you’re looking for an ally in your fight against. Dark-Law, Jr., I can’t provide you assistance with that. I may look like a titan, but I am still too old to be slinging magic spells on the battlefield with you.”

“I understand if you’re not feeling up to the task,” said Caitlin. “I didn’t come here for extra soldiers. Lord knows I’ve led many of them to their doom already. I’m here merely to seek your wisdom and counsel. Perhaps you have advice on how to combat Dark-Law, Jr. and his forces.”

“I’ve certainly seen what his minions are capable of. Too much bloodshed. Too much oppression. Too much starvation. And there’s not one person who’s been able to weaken his iron grip over this world. If you want advice on how to defeat this madman and bring peace to our world again, it’s this.” Eli took a deep breath and removed his sheep’s mask. “Fall in line. Just fall in line and nobody will get hurt.”

Caitlin stood back up and furrowed her eyebrows at the “wise advice” she was given. “That’s it? I came all this way and had many men and women die on my watch so that I could hear that? That’s your genius plan? Just let Dark-Law, Jr. do whatever the hell he wants?”

“This is clearly not what you were expecting and I can tell you’re disappointed,” said Eli. “However, this is all I have to give you. The reason your warriors have died is because you keep pushing forward in a battle you can’t win. If there were no battles, your soldiers would still be alive.”

“That’s bullshit!” screamed Caitlin. “Dark-Law, Jr. has been killing off people left and right whether they rebelled against him or not! He’s a bully! He gets off on that crap! He thinks this planet is his own personal coliseum! You may be okay with what’s going on here, but I’m too busy trying to change the world to listen to your bullshit! Fuck this, I’m out of here!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Sparks, I can’t allow you to leave,” said Eli as he stood up and clinched his fists, purple energy swirling around them.

“Old man, you’re in no position to threaten me or to give me orders!” yelled Caitlin as she drew her massive sword. “I wasted a long journey coming here and all you gave me was cereal box advice! I think I’m entitled to handle this on my own considering you have the intelligence and wisdom of a packet of ketchup!”

“You may not like it!” screamed Eli so powerfully that he knocked Caitlin back and caused her to raise her eyebrows in fear. “But that’s the way the world works. You’re welcome to stay in my temple for as long as you need to. In fact, I won’t let you go anywhere else. Not while there’s still death and destruction around.”

“You bastard!” shouted Caitlin when she ran at Eli full force and swung her oversized blade, intending to decapitate him. A green aura was protecting the elderly sage and when the sword made contact, it bounced out of the attacker’s hands and skidded across the floor into the darkness. Unable to accept the fact she was screwed, Caitlin threw wild punches and kicks at the wizard, still no effect.

“My turn, you spoiled bitch!” screamed Eli as he wrapped his massive hands around Caitlin’s throat and hoisted her in the air, her feet dangling beneath her. As she struggled for oxygen, she tried to pry his huge hands loose and even kicked him in the balls for good measure. Nothing. Not one dent. It didn’t take long before Caitlin’s lungs flattened, her neck was sore, and her vision was as black as the rest of the temple.

Caitlin was left in the dark for what seemed like days, maybe even months. In reality, it had only been hours since she was choked out by the massive Eli Magruder, who was supposedly too old for combat. When the battle-hardened woman finally came to, her throat was sore, her eyes felt like they were going to pop out, and she had a monstrous headache. She didn’t wait to fully recover when she felt around for a sense of her surroundings.

Once again, she was left in the dark, but this time for a much more disturbing reason. She was kept in a claustrophobia-inducing space with wood paneling on both sides of her, against her back, and in front of her. This could only mean one thing. The so-called “wise one” locked her in a coffin and quite possibly buried her underground.

Tears formed in Caitlin’s pain-wracked eyes as she kept saying, “No!” to herself and pounding the lid to the coffin. “Let me out of here!” she screamed in desperation. “Let me out of here, you have no right to keep me here! Please! You can’t do this to me! I’ll stay with you if you just let me out!”

Not one vocal response. She truly was all alone in that coffin. She cried several more tears as she thought about all the times she let her fellow warriors down. So many deaths. So many fathers and mothers without children. So many children without parents. So many wives without husbands. A trail of broken homes was all Caitlin Sparks left behind, even more so than Dark-Law, Jr. could have done himself. Her death by starvation in this coffin would be the final blow against a rebellion that never was. No wonder her eyes were flooding with tears.

And then she heard Eli’s voice once again, this time saying, “Okay, okay, just wait a minute! Haven’t you kids got any patience?!” The crying stopped. Her coffin was being lifted out of whatever hole it was kept in and the lid was pulled off with relative ease by the monstrous Eli Magruder, who then proceeded to pull Caitlin out of the box and show her that she had been in the backyard of the temple this whole time.

Caitlin Sparks wasn’t going to wait for an explanation. She continued to throw punches at her assailant, but these ones were more like emotional slaps than real combative blows. She screamed obscenities at him while Eli held her arms and tried to calm him down. With these words, her assault came to an end: “The drones are gone.”

“…What?”

“I gave you that crappy advice because there were drones flying over my temple. I buried you back here to make them think you were dead and done for and that I was just a crazy old man. The whole speech about conformity was a trick.”

As Caitlin looked at her new mentor in disbelief, Eli handed her back her sword and said, “As long as Dark-Law, Jr. doesn’t think you’re a threat anymore, he won’t see you coming when you finally lop off his head. You came to my temple for advice? Here it is: stealth and brains will always win over brute force and brawn. I helped you with the stealth part, now all you have to do is maintain your cover. I believe you can do it, Miss Sparks. I know you can.”

Caitlin clutched her sword handle with a newfound strength and looked into Eli’s eyes with a mixture of anger and focus. The anger wasn’t directed at him. On the contrary, she was thankful he went out of his way for her like that. The anger and rage was all for Dark-Law, Jr. She would take every ounce of that rage on him with one blow.

“Trust me when I say this, Master Magruder,” said Caitlin with newfound respect for him. “I’m bring you that son of a bitch’s head on a silver platter. Not just for me, but for you and everyone else he has slaughtered mercilessly. If I have to be slow and careful, then that’s how I’ll do it. I owe you big time, Master.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Miss Sparks…except Dark-Law, Jr.’s head!”

"The Blood Guard" by Carter Roy

BOOK TITLE: The Blood Guard
AUTHOR: Carter Roy
YEAR: 2014
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy
GRADE: Pass


Ronan Truelove is a 13-year-old boy who spent his whole life taking martial arts and athletic classes on the orders of his mother. One day after school, those skills could very well come in handy. His mother loads him into the car and speeds away from evil-looking agents in suits and ties. After the mother and son manage to get away, Ronan is sent to the nearest train station to Washington, DC, to meet up with other people who are just as deadly with a sword as Mrs. Truelove. From that moment on, Ronan is accosted by other evil minions in suits without further explanation as to why all of this is happening. As the novel progresses, the mystery unravels and Ronan Truelove gets closer and closer to proving his worth to a world about to be thrown into chaos.

To say that this book is a little fast-paced would be like saying sumo wrestlers are just a little heavy. The action is hot and heavy. The breaks in said action are few and far between. It’s a nonstop sword slinging, laser beam shooting, acrobatic dive from one chapter to the next. The only idiom I can use to describe such a breakneck pace is, “No rest for the weary.” And it’s true: Ronan Truelove nor his companions can even tie their shoes before another group of suited minions tries to kill them. It all seems like random action at first, but that’s the nature of mysteries: all will be revealed in due time. Until then, kick back, buckle in, and hold on tightly. It’s a bumpy ride all the way to the end.

A good majority of this action is being performed by a main character, Ronan, who doesn’t look anything like a typical hero. He’s a 13-year old boy. He’s skinnier than a paperclip. He’s oblivious to even the most thought out explanations. His fighting skills are nowhere near as polished as those of his enemies. He’s just as fearful as a layman watching his battles from the sidelines. And yet, he’s perfect for this kind of story, because fantasy is not about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. It’s about every day people like you and me accomplishing the impossible. If a little beanpole like Ronan Truelove can save the day and solve the mysteries that surround his attacks, then what other doors does that open for us? Maybe the reader can feel inspired as well. Maybe that’s what Carter Roy intended.

And while I won’t go into the exact details of the Blood Guard mystery, I will say that there are a lot of twists and turns in this bumpy road to heroism. You’ll find out things you never would have imagined possible about the story arc. You’ll be surprised by everything, especially near the end of the story when the reader finds out who’s responsible for all of this chaos. I couldn’t be more silent about this plot if I had duct tape over my mouth. If you want to know what the hell is going on in this turbulent tale, you’ll have to figure it out on your own. Buy Carter Roy’s book and give him your patronage. And know that there’s plenty more mystery where that came from, especially since The Blood Guard is the first in a series of novels featuring Ronan Truelove. Then again, do you really want such an adrenaline-pumped story to end so soon? A passing grade for a badass novel.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The CIA doesn’t kill people anymore, they neutralize them or they depopulate an area. The government won’t lie to you anymore, they’ll engage in disinformation. The Pentagon actually measures nuclear radiation in something they call sunshine units. Israeli murderers are called commandos. Arab commandos are called terrorists. Contra killers are known as freedom fighters. Well, if crime fighters fight crime and firefighters fight fires, what do freedom fighters fight?”

-George Carlin-

Tyler Cutty

NAME: Tyler Cutty
AGE: Immortal
OCCUPATION: Mummy Serial Killer
CANON: World of Darkness: Washington 2

You’re looking at Tyler Cutty’s occupation and are probably wondering if he’s goes around randomly killing mummies or if he’s a mummy who happens to also be a serial killer. The latter is what I was trying to imply. But why is an ancient Egyptian creature running around with the name Tyler? Cleopatra, Ramses, Xerxes, and now Tyler. Such progression, I know. Evolution couldn’t have come up with a better byproduct than a fucking American mummy named Tyler! With his invincible undead body and a sword bigger than he is, it’s more believable than it sounds.

Although the second installment of World of Darkness: Washington never came to fruition, the first one was a real thing at one point and now it’s digital dust. The idea behind each WOD:WA story is that three different kinds of undead creatures are tracked in three different cities in Washington state, my current home. In the first novel, mummies lived in Bellingham, vampires lived in Seattle, werewolves lived in Chehalis, and they all congregated to start life over again in Aberdeen.

In the second novel, which would have been Tyler’s home, mummies, vampires, werewolves, and hunters lived in Tacoma, demons lived in Port Orchard, and changelings lived in Purdy. Although Tyler is a mummy to the core, he would actually be a part of the third act in Purdy with the changelings.

If you’ve never been to Purdy before, don’t forget to bring your blanket and pillow; you’re going to need them in such a boring backwoods area. Purdy is so boring, in fact, that it’s a perfect place for a serial killer like Tyler Cutty to take residence. Nobody would ever think to look for him there. Granted, he has to actually go out and venture into the bigger cities to look for victims, but he’s more than capable of doing that, because he looks completely normal riding a city bus in his mummy wrap.

Unfortunately, because WOD:WA2 never got realized, Tyler Cutty never got developed past his name, race, and occupation. All we know about mummies from the first novel is that they become those creatures by allowing magical wrappings to snake around their bodies and turn their innards to dust. The only way to kill a mummy, as pointed out by Egyptologist Dr. Shawn Phoenix, is by cutting at their wrappings with a 12-inch knife. No more, no less. Only a knife of that length could ever possess the combination of strength and precision necessary to perform such a surgical strike.

Dr. Shawn Phoenix got the shit kicked out of him in the first novel, so those who actually know the 12-inch blade secret are few and far between, and they’re certainly not out in Tyler Cutty’s part of Washington state. Which means of course that Tyler is free to either slowly torture his victims by ripping their limbs off or slash them to bloody pieces with his oversized sword, which is far more than 12 inches, I can assure you that. If you’re a changeling, which is basically a kind of faerie in World of Darkness terms, how do you stop a guy with infinite strength and sadistic urges to back it up? You might be able to do it if you found out about the 12-inch secret, but even if you did, you still have to be a better fighter than a super powerful mummy. Good luck, little fairies!

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Maybe I should let her go, but not until she loves me.”

-Slipknot singing “Killpop”-

Gail Reinhold

NAME: Gail Reinhold

AGE: 30

OCCUPATION: Paladin

CANONS: Final Fantasy Hardcore, Tribe, Hardcore Hell, and Fireball Nightmare

Your eyes don’t deceive you and quite frankly I don’t know why they would unless you were having an acid flashback. Gail Reinhold has been a part of four different failed stories, thus making her the most experienced heroine I’ve ever had (and no, that’s not an invitation for the W-word, so piss off). No matter what canon she was a part of, she was always the eventual arm candy of Deus Shadowheart, the most popular and experienced character I have.

Deus Shadowheart is a smelly barbarian who can rip someone in half with his thumb and forefinger. Gail Reinhold is a beautiful paladin who can be both tough-minded and tenderhearted at the same time. How exactly do these two people find each other attractive? How does a beautiful flower like Gail give consent to a barbaric beast like Deus and then the two live happily ever after? In all the times they’ve been together, it was always because Deus was saving Gail from an abduction, one that happened over and over again, might I add. Doesn’t exactly make Gail a strong feminine role model despite supposedly being a badass magic-wielding paladin.

With the random selection I put my characters through, it’s not likely Deus and Gail will ever be a couple again. They might not even be part of the same canon. Were they ever really good for each other if Gail was only a damsel in distress? How about she actually put her magic and combative skills to good use and save a man’s life for a change. Or save another woman’s life. Or save her own life. Make her tough and independent at the same time. She can still be the tender and emotional sweetie pie I always made her out to be, and that might actually work in making her a flawed character despite being nearly invincible in combat.

In addition to being multi-dimensional as a character, she can also be that way when it comes to the time period she occupies. Paladins are Dungeons & Dragons characters by nature, which in plain English means they’re medieval warriors in medieval times. But what if this was the future? What if she was an intergalactic princess with an energy sword (I can’t say light saber lest I be sued by Disney) and unlimited magic powers? Or here’s a crazy idea: she could actually make it in the modern world with no fantasy or supernatural elements whatsoever. She could be a badass marine, a rookie cop, or a digital Robin Hood, all while using a sword. A cop with a sword? A marine with an energy blade? Hell yeah, now we’re talking!

If Gail does find another story to be a part of, then I can’t make the same mistakes I made with her in the past, which are make her too fragile and kill her off with no sympathy or empathy for her character. Gail has a lot of potential to be something great. She shouldn’t be ruined by an early death or a Mary-Sue stigma. I might have to go all the way with her and make her the main character of whatever story she’s a part of. Gail Reinhold: a badass diva with a blade and an attitude. I like the sound of that! It almost sounds like it has graphic novel implications. Bottom line: I believe in Gail’s star power. She can have the charisma if I give it to her. But the question now is, what story will she be a part of? Let’s go to Random.org to find out!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If Natalya won the Divas Title, that wouldn’t be good for Tyson Kidd. He’d have more things to carry.”

-John “Bradshaw” Layfield-

Rhys Jambi

Pirate culture was something I wasn’t always emotionally invested in. Even after watching two movies from the Pirates of the Caribbean series and watching an anime called One Piece, I couldn’t get behind the culture. What finally changed my mind about it was joining a Good Reads group aptly called Weekly Short Story Contests and Company, which I’m still a proud member of. We posts stories and poems and get awesome feedback whether it’s in the form of praise or critique. But more importantly, this Good Reads group has a pirate motif. It’s not just an internet group; it’s a pirate ship complete with talking mice, roughhousing, and swashbuckling. God, I love the internet!

Which brings me to Rhys Jambi, who would have been lost in the dark recesses of my character archives if it wasn’t for me joining the WSS group and being influenced by piracy. Not much is known about Mr. Jambi except via a crappy drawing I did of him in 2006, a time when the men looked like sticks, the women looked like men, and neither of them had a lot of extraordinary details. Rhys didn’t have a story to be a part of, which is probably why he’s only known through that crappy drawing. From what anybody could gather, he had tall spiky hair, baggy pants, sandals, and a giant sword with a crescent hook at the end of it instead of a point, much like the one owned by Tidus from Final Fantasy X.

So now that Mr. Jambi is known only through the drawing, it’s time to give him a personality of some kind. The pirate is not an official Dungeons & Dragons class (at least according to 3.5 edition standards), but if it were, the characters who portrayed it could be any alignment it want as long as it was non-lawful. As it turns out, hostile takeovers of other people’s ships don’t constitute the behavior of people who obey the law. Isn’t that right, Captain Phillips? Okay, that was in poor taste, but you get the point, right?

Despite freely breaking the social contract, pirates can still be either good, evil, or neutral. Once a decision is made in that regard, there still needs to be a decision made whether Rhys Jambi will be chaotic or neutral. Since I only have a small space to make those decisions, I elect that he be a mixture of all those non-lawful alignments. He can rape and pillage one minute and save a kitten from a tree the next. If I’m going to have him undertake an ambiguous alignment like that, it means he can’t do something so horrible he crosses the Moral Event Horizon. Otherwise, Mr. Jambi won’t be believable. I could make him believable if I gave him Multiple Personality Disorder, but I feel like that would be exploiting people with mental illnesses.

Aside from what I’ve already said in this post, Rhys Jambi is a clean slate. I’m sure he’ll adapt comfortably to whatever role I assign him. What could possibly go wrong? It’s like hiring a guy with no job history but a reputable education. Yes, it’s true he’s never had a job before, but he’s young and a go-getter. Shouldn’t that be enough? It sounds like I’m trying to sell this talking point to a future employer, but that ship sailed when I terminated my contract with the Department of Vocational Rehab years ago. Wait a minute, did I just make a ship analogy in a blog post about a pirate? I swear that was an accident. However, if he’s going to be a chaotic pirate, he needs a ship.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Careful where you shoot, because you might hit what you aim for.”

-Linkin Park singing “Keys to the Kingdom”-