Food-Mindedness and Body Horror

In case it wasn’t already abundantly clear from my 300 lb. belly, I’m very food-minded. Almost everything in my life reminds me of food in some way. Hell, the word Life will conjure images of the oat square cereal swirling around in milk. The word swirling will remind me of frosted cinnamon buns, keyword being frosted, as in enough frosting to cover the whole fucking thing. At least those words make a modicum of sense, but then there are names of people that remind me of food for no reason at all. Marcus reminds me of hotdogs and mustard. Brad reminds me of French bread. Rachel reminds me of apple juice. Erick reminds me of birthday cake-flavored milkshakes. How did this happen? Was it the constant advertising? Was there some trick of the brain during childhood I wasn’t aware of?

Already, my relationship with food is off to a rocky start. But then there are the things I find disgusting in life and how they find their way into my food. Not literally, but I imagine that they do and my imagination is powerful enough to make me vomit in some cases. For example, if you’ve ever seen the movie Clerks, the View Askew Productions logo at the beginning will serve as nightmare fuel to haunt you at every stage of life. There’s nothing wrong with men dressing in fishnet pantyhose, high heels, and leather thongs…even if they do have grotesque body hair. But it’s the unwanted sexual attention and creepiness of his flirtation that makes it such a traumatic logo. After seeing that logo for the first time, I kept involuntarily picturing his hairy disgusting body in pieces of my lunch meat. Every time I take a bite of ham or turkey, I imagine I’m taking a bite out of that man’s body. My stomach is aching and my fingers are convulsing just thinking about this.

But that’s just one example. If that was the only one, then I wouldn’t have been inspired to write an entire essay on it. What about the Calcobrena Puppets from Final Fantasy IV? You know, those creepy leotard-wearing dolls with buzzed heads, bloodshot eyes, zombie movements, and murderous intentions. They look like they could be Pee-Wee Herman’s children based on their buzz-cuts alone. Pee-Wee Herman once taught his audience how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on his show. Therefore…all of my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will taste like the bodies of the Calcobrena Puppets. It’ll be like eating right off of their skulls, head lice, fleas, and maggots be damned. It’ll be like giving French kisses to each and every one of those dolls…while passing pre-chewed sandwiches back and forth! Again, my stomach is boiling and rotting while I’m typing this.

And what about the Simpsons from their Treehouse of Horror Episodes, particularly the ones where they turn into pale zombies. They chew flesh, they lose limbs, they groan like exhausted monsters, and did I mention that they have pale skin? You know what else is pale in color? Pasta covered in white sauce, whether it’s American cheese or Alfredo sauce. Every bite that I took of those macaroni shells made me believe I was eating pieces of the zombie Simpsons. I took a long time to swallow knowing that zombie flesh was going down my throat and was going to poison me to death. The macaroni turned to mush in my mouth, so when I finally swallowed, I gagged and brought up a little bit of bile with it.

If I rattled off every example of food-related body horror, then we’d be here forever and a day. I could talk about the faceless masks from Pink Floyd the Wall reminding me of melted cheese. I could talk about the diarrhea blasts in The Human Centipede reminding me of chocolate ice cream (that one’s too obvious, though). I could talk about dead flies reminding me of Butterfinger ice cream. How did this all happen? Why are these disgusting things finding their way into my every meal? Am I so linked up with food that every trauma will remind me of such? Suppose I was more inclined towards Legos instead of food. If I touched a Lego piece that had three holes in it, would it remind me of the Pink Floyd masks? What if I was geared towards clothing? Would the View Askew drag queen’s body hair remind me of a wool sweater that’s literally hugging my chest?

I can already hear fatphobic assholes using my food horror as motivation for me to lose weight…or is that just my schizophrenic voices? Nah, I’m pretty sure someone has thought of exploiting me at one point or another. To those fat-shamers, I say watch the Human Centipede and eat a bag of shit and then watch Pink Floyd the Wall and eat an entire McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese (there has to be cheese in it, no exceptions). Unlike drugs and alcohol, food is actually necessary to survive. A cheeseburger will carry you over into the next day. A pack of cigarettes will not. A pepperoni pizza will give you the nutrition you need, even if it’s bad. Alcohol will not. If I gave up all of my favorite foods due to the body horror I’ve witnessed over the years, I would die of anorexia. Imagine that: fat-shaming actually hurts people instead of helping them find motivation. It’s almost as if people are only fat-shaming to satisfy their sadistic urges and are just using motivation as a cover-up for their shitty behavior. Bullying never went away; it just adapted to the new world.

I could tell you all that I’ve found the perfect counter for body horror-induced trauma, but I haven’t. Yes, I’m still alive and eating like a pig, but that’s only because the trauma went away on its own. I eat ham sandwiches whenever I damn well please even though the View Askew drag queen lusted on me through the TV screen as a kid. I eat stuffed mushrooms despite the fact that it feels too much like I’m eating Phanto from Mario Brothers 2, the evilly-smiling little bastard. Trauma going away on its own is not a typical outcome for most people, especially if schizophrenia is a factor like it is for me. Sure, you can take away the stimulus and hope for the Law of Diminishing Returns to kick in, but it doesn’t always do that. I have no solutions for your body horror trauma. As a matter of fact, I may have given you some of that as I described examples of how they make their way into my food.

Sometimes I think I’m the only one who experiences things like this until I Google it and find entire communities full of people who share my problems. But that’s assuming I’m not too lazy on any given day to use Google. It’s such an easy thing, yet I find myself too lazy sometimes to type words into a search engine. If you’re out there and you’re as food-minded as me, I’m sorry I can’t provide solutions for you other than the occasional animal picture and some digital hugs. You know who can provide more than that? Your therapist. They can talk you through your trauma. They can encourage you to face your food-themed fears. They can be there for you when you feel like others would laugh at your plight. Yes, therapy can be expensive at times, but it’s worth every penny if it means you’ll be okay in the end. If you’re not okay, it’s not the end. Life is better alive. It’s a dumb thing to say, but the truth won’t wane away. Okay, now I’m just ripping off quotes and lyrics. I should stop doing that before I get sent to prison for copyright infringement and have my vanilla pudding remind me of my cell mate’s semen. Uh-oh! More body horror!

Treehouse of Hell

***TREEHOUSE OF HELL***

For some reason, the title of this journal sounds like a secret level in one of the Diablo computer games. I can fully imagine taking my barbarian and paladin and storming the shit out of that place, purging it of demons forever (or at least until Diablo is resurrected for the next videogame). As much as I’d like for this to happen, that’s actually not why I’m writing this journal. This review is about something much deeper: reviews.

When it comes to reviews, writing them has become over time just as much a part of my professional life as paperback copies of Occupy Wrestling, American Darkness, and Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage. Whenever I read a book, I feel obligated to write a review for it in order to help that author out no matter how famous or obscure he or she may be. I recently wrote reviews for the obscure “Girlfriend Wager” by Edward Davies and the wildly popular “Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris. Both books received passing grades (four stars) and are more popular for their reviews. Then again, honestly critiquing the book does more for an author than giving the book a particular number of stars. Honesty is the best policy. Don’t bullshit people when you write your reviews. In the words of George Carlin, “It’s all bullshit and it’s bad for you.”

But that’s with books. What about TV shows? What about movies? What about wrestling or mixed-martial arts matches? I’m not a movie director or a pro-athlete by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t have as much influence over television as I do with books. I’ll admit that there are times when I feel down about people not caring about my television reviews. But then I remember that this is the internet and people get ignored all the time. If I give up writing television reviews just because of the lack of demand, then that goes against the whole idea of writing: because it’s good creative fun.

Now that I’ve said that, I want you all to pay attention to the date October 25^th, 2015. On that Sunday night at 8:00 pacific time, there will be two different shows going on at the same time. The first will be a pay-per-view event only broadcast on the WWE Network called Hell in a Cell, in which the two titular matches will be Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker and Roman Reigns vs. Bray Wyatt. The other TV program going on at that time will be The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror 26, which is a Halloween tradition for the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household.

Normally, I would have to choose one or the other, but thanks to the magic of my Roku streaming device, I can watch one show on that Sunday night and watch the other one at a later time at my leisure. The point of telling you the significance of the 25^th? Because both TV shows will be ripe for the picking when it comes to reviews. That would lead you guys to believe why I didn’t review any matches on the NXT Takeover special called Respect. That NXT pay-per-view was so damn good top to bottom that writing praise for it would be overkill. Not so much with Hell in a Cell, where anything can and will happen.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays for many reasons: good candy, creative costumes, kick-ass TV shows, and the all around frightening spirit of that night. I may be 30 years old, but acting my age is not one of my virtues. I’m definitely dressing up for Halloween and it’s going to be fun! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***READING PRIORITIES***

With “The Girlfriend Wager” and “Silence of the Lambs” in my rearview mirror, it’s time for two more books to go on my currently reading shelf on Good Reads. One of those books is called “January First” by Michael Schofield, in which the author recounts his experiences with raising a daughter who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the tender age of six. As you can tell, this has a special place in my heart since I was diagnosed at age 17. I’ve heard the other book I’m going to read has mental health implications as well. It’s called “Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow” by my very own beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps. I can’t wait to get started on these!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

October has been unofficially dubbed by my good friend Zero Urrea as “villains month”. He’s been pumping out MS Paint pictures of various villains that catch his fancy and I will be doing the same with my pencil and paper drawings. The next villain on the horizon for me is Colleen Owens, the machete-wielding eco-warrior who along with a crew of pirates slashes the shit out of Riff De La Luka’s weed-smuggling crew in the short story “Bleed For Weed”. Riff already has a drawing of him online and he’s bearing resemblance to Dee Jay from Super Street Fighter II. I haven’t decided yet who I’m going to use for Colleen Owens’ reference picture model, but I’m leaning towards Brie Bella from the WWE since they both hold strong pro-environmental views. Although to be fair to Brie, she would never hack random drug smugglers to pieces with a machete…as far as I know. Hehe!

　

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What’s Edward Davies’ favorite kind of shotgun?
A: Sod-Off.

The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror

SERIES TITLE: The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror

GENRE: Animated Horror Comedy

RATING: TV-PG for strong violence, mild language, black humor, and disturbing moments

GRADE: Pass

Anytime I browse the internet looking for a conversation about The Simpsons, it seems as though there’s always a raucous debate going on about whether or not the animated series is funny. People say it was funny in the 90’s but not after that. Others say it stood the test of time. Something definitely happened to the series when time transitioned from the 1990’s to the 2000’s and 2010’s. The style of humor is different, that’s for sure. But the one thing about The Simpsons that will remain a constant is the yearly Halloween episodes aptly called The Treehouse of Horror series.

In a regular Simpsons episode, you can expect zaniness and quirkiness throughout all 30 minutes. In a Treehouse of Horror episode, you’d better be wearing dark pants with a diaper underneath. Every episode is 30 minutes of something TV Tropes calls Nightmare Fuel. May God send a lightning bolt through my body if I’m lying. My skin isn’t crispy and my hair isn’t black, so I must be telling the truth.

The Nightmare Fuel begins with the music. During the opening sequence, the regular Simpsons theme is done in a slow and creepy whistle with dramatic symphonic music in the background. During the closing credits, the music is faster and closer to the real Simpsons theme, but it’s done with the creepy whistle yet again and this time either a church organ or harpsichord, depending on the episode. While you’re listening to this music, you somehow get the feeling there are monsters in your house waiting to chomp you like spaghetti and meatballs. It’s a haunted feeling and you will be disturbed by it.

After the end credits are over, we go to the Gracie Films logo. The variation differs from episode to episode, but it’s generally always been the same. Instead of a gentle shushing noise, it’s a woman giving off a high-pitched, blood-curdling death scream. Instead of a soothing electric piano, the Gracie Films theme is played on a church organ and in a minor key. Every year when I watch the end credits, my heart races and my blood goes cold in anticipation for this Gracie Films spoof. It’s that creepy.

The couch gags from the first ten Treehouse of Horror episodes are nothing to be comfortable around either. They started using couch gags in the third annual episode, which showed The Simpson family as skeletons. The episode after that showed them as bloodthirsty zombies. The sixth Treehouse of Horror might be the scariest as it shows the Simpsons being lynched with their necks snapped and their eyes crossed. When the next shot after the couch gag shows opening credits on the TV, it puts the point of view directly in front of the monstrous versions of the Simpson family. Which means they’re right behind you. If you don’t have your head on a swivel, you’re going to be zombie chow. Watch your back before Bart plants a dagger in it or Homer takes a bite out of your shoulder.

These aspects of the show are scary enough on their own. But let’s not forget the bulk of every episode is the three stories within them. These episodes are so bloody and gory that you’ll need a rowboat to navigate the sets. The monsters are so ugly and hideous that you might die of vomiting yourself dry before they get a chance to eat you. That zany and ridiculous humor you were counting on in the regular episodes? We’re getting a little darker with that, so dark that Anthony Jeselnik, George Carlin (RIP), and Daniel Tosh would all need Xanax to combat their nightmares. Good thing dark comedians have a high salary, because it’s all going to therapy.

Commonsense would dictate that anybody who wants to have a functioning heart or a hair color other than white would stay away from these episodes of The Simpsons. Every year, these episodes disturb the shit out of me, more so than any legitimate horror movie like Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13^th, or Poltergeist. If you can take a whacky comedy series and turn it into a Nightmare Fuel station, you’ve got some serious skills. Despite being horrified by these episodes, I look forward to them every year and I sit down to watch them. I will say this, though: despite receiving a passing grade tonight, the Treehouse of Horror franchise went from being horrifying to darkly funny over the past two plus decades. There is some legitimacy in that argument. But you know what? I always keep my black athletic pants in my closet for such an occasion.

Halloween at the Library

What’s your favorite part of Halloween? The mountains of candy? The excuse to put on a costume? Visiting lots of spooky houses? My favorite part of Halloween is the annual Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode. I anticipate these specials so much that I occasionally have dreams about either watching them or being a character in them. Every dream ends the same way: with me cowering away from the end credits where the Gracie Films lady screams her head off in terror before organ music plays.

The Treehouse of Horror episodes can get crazy in a hurry. But why the hell would the guys at Gracie Films do an episode…in a library? Don’t get me wrong, I love to kick back and read like every other geek out there. But this is Halloween. You can’t eat books and get a sugar headache. You might have intestinal problems, but no sugar headache.

It turns out the library was supposed to be a safe haven from the monsters outside who like to eat human beings like the candy that’s supposed to be given out. I didn’t know what kind of monsters they were and I wasn’t anxious to find out. So what does the library do? They keep the patrons safe by isolating them with magical curtains. It’s the introvert’s paradise: a curtain booth with nothing but a good book and a wild imagination.

The curtain booths actually do a good job of keeping me and the Simpson family safe, which is kind of anticlimactic for a Treehouse of Horror episode. I’ll tell you what wasn’t anticlimactic. The library offered patrons the chance to take a quiz to figure out which musician has a crush on us. When I took this quiz, I was excited that the results would say something like Tarja Turunen, Maria Brink, or Jeanne Sagan. Nope. I got Elton John. There’s nothing wrong with Elton John having a crush on me, but it’s not the answer I was hoping for.

Thus ends this dreamy episode of The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. And the best part: no screaming lady after the end credits! Waking up without pissing my bed is a nice way to start the morning. Waking up with more questions than answers is not. I can figure out why The Simpsons would figure into my subconscious: because I enjoy the Halloween episodes.

But why did it take place in a library and why does Elton John find me attractive? I like libraries, but I’ve only heard two Elton John songs in my whole life: “I’m Still Standing” and “Rocket Man”. In the latter of these two songs, Elton says that mars isn’t the kind of place to raise your kids, because it’s cold as hell. You know what else is cold as hell? My subconscious’ sense of humor. Laugh it up, inner brain. I’m glad you think this is hilarious.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’re only going to lock up true sex offenders. We’re not going to bother with consenting adults who like to dress up in leather boy scout uniforms and smash each other in the head with ball peen hammers while they take turns blowing their cat. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that. It’s a victimless hobby. And think of how good the cat must feel. We’re only going to lock up rapists and molesters. Those hopeless romantics who are so full of love they can’t help but get a little bit of it on you. Usually on your leg.”

-George Carlin-

"Bart Simpson's Treehouse of Horror: Heebie-Jeebie Hullabaloo" by Matt Groening

If you’re a Simpsons fan and you especially love their Treehouse of Horror episodes, then you’ll have to wait an entire year for the next installment. If on the other hand you don’t have that kind of patience, I recommend buying “Bart Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror: Heebie-Jeebie Hullabaloo”. Goddamn, that’s a long title, but with a short page count. This graphic novel has everything you could ever want in a Treehouse of Horror episode: comedy, fright, and a few intermissions in between. By intermissions, I mean things other than lame-ass, tame-ass auto insurance commercials on TV. Those things would include a mad lib done by different members of the Simpson clan, a spider web of Springfield citizens “cursing” each other, ramblings of the sea captain telling weird-ass stories, those kinds of things. But those are just the intermissions in between chapters. For the actual chapters, you’ve got things that bring chills to your spine more often than a Gracie Films logo with a screaming woman in the background. But while your spine is tingling worse than a spider bite, you might also get a few chuckles to ease the nervous feeling in your tummy. You’ve got Sideshow Bob turning into Sideshow Blob, Springfield citizens being replaced with boring versions of themselves, Bart chasing a naked Homer with a fisherman’s pike, and the very remote possibility that Homer, if he was replaced with a dull version of himself, might not care about professional wrestling anymore. That’s right, Homer! Run those stubby little legs to freedom! We must have pro-wrestling! Actually, he can’t run far without being caught by insane asylum orderlies who try to convince him he’s nuts. Ah hell, it has to be said at some point, so we might as well take advantage of the segue. This whole graphic novel is nuts. And if you need more proof, take a look at the couch gag at the back of the book: the Simpsons laying on the couch with pieces of their bodies falling off and their skeletons visible. It’s a shame that couch gag wasn’t used on TV with the creepy music playing in the background. That would make for some nerve-wracking shit! But since you have to wait a whole year for another Treehouse of Horror episode, just buy this book.

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

GRANDPA: Quick! We have to kill the boy!
MARGE: How did you know he’s a vampire?
GRANDPA: He’s a vampire?! AAHH!!

-Simpsons Treehouse of Horror IV-