Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Audiomancer

Fully automatic pistol? Check. Blue trench coat? Check. Badass shades? Check. Nasty attitude? Double check. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Edge Spider whistled a playful tune as he ascended the busted-up wooden stairs of the Neon Neighborhood Apartments. Through the mirrored shades resting underneath his afro do, he glared at the janitor at the top of the stairs, an old man in gray overalls mopping the floors. Edge reached the second floor and the elderly custodian never took his scowling eyes off of the cybernetic thug.

“Dude, what the fuck you lookin’ at, old man? I’ll kick your ass if you don’t take them eyes off of me! Keep mopping that dirt and don’t pay me no mind, bitch! Jesus!” threatened Edge as he scurried down the hallway to the apartment of his choice. He never turned around to see if the janitor was still glaring at him. All of his attention was on the number on the scratched up wooden door in front of him: 4B. “That’s the one.”

Edge knocked on the door several times and said, “Hey, Lisa! Come on, baby girl, open the goddamn door!” No reply. He knocked even harder this time and said, “Open the door, bitch! I ain’t got all day!” Still no answer. He then pulled a small wire from his trench coat pocket and fiddled with the lock until he heard a click. He chuckled to himself and said, “Bitch, you’re making this too easy.”

With one harsh swing of the door, Edge burst inside the shabby apartment and yelled, “Here’s Johnny!” in a prolonged voice. Not even the gangster’s obnoxious tone was enough to awaken Sgt. Lisa Baker, who sat hunched over at her computer lightly snoring with thick headphones on her ears. “Damn, that must have been some powerful shit.”

Shutting the door behind him with a loud thud wasn’t enough to startle Lisa, but slapping her in the back of the head and knocking her headphones over was. The blond ex-marine in a ratty pink bathrobe held the back of her head while stretching her sleepiness out with her other arm.

“Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bacey! Rise and shine! It’s breakfast time!” said Edge in a quasi-playful tone.

“Hey, Edge. How’s it going?” said Lisa in a languid, zonked out voice.

“Well, babe, I wish I could say things were going great, but they ain’t. I’ve been lookin’ at my bank account today and it’s getting pretty damn low. That might have something to do with you being late on those payments. So where’s my money, bitch? You obviously love them audio files I gave to you. Now you gotta pay for them sum-bitches,” said Edge while hovering over her.

“Listen, man,” said Lisa as he rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. “Those files have done wonders for my PTSD. I’m grateful to have them, I really am. But I’m having a hard time coming up with money, okay? Ever since I came back from the war, I had a hard time finding work. Just give me a few more weeks and you’ll get your money.”

Placing a hand on Sgt. Baker’s shoulder, Edge said in a sarcastically comforting tone, “Okay, baby girl. I’ll give you a few more weeks. And then I’ll give you a few more weeks after that, a few more weeks after that, and a few more weeks after that. I could give you enough time for me to be in a fucking nursing home and I still wouldn’t get my money. Them audio files are making you lazy, bitch. You know how I feel about lazy people.”

His feelings were confirmed when Lisa’s head drooped over and she fell asleep again. “Oh, no, you didn’t. I know you didn’t just fall asleep on me.” The marine’s response was even heavier snoring than before. Edge gritted his teeth, grabbed Lisa by her shoulders, and tossed her across the room, all while yelling, “Wake up, asshole!”

The soldier slowly stirred from her slumber and gazed up at Edge with foggy eyes and a crooked smile. “Hey there, big boy. What can I do for you today?”

“Oh, you know damn well what you’re going to do for me! You’re going to break out that checkbook and give me what I came here for! If I have to throw your ass out the window, I’ll fucking do it! I’m telling you, you’re hooked on them audio drugs! I’m cutting your ass off until I get my money!” shouted Edge while pointing an accusatory finger at his victim.

Lisa made a flat tire noise and torpidly said, “Audio drugs? Babe, that wasn’t an audio drug I was listening to.”

“Oh, don’t gimme that bullshit! You was snoozing like a lazy little dog! I saw you myself!” snapped Edge. For full proof, he put the headphones on for a quick listen. His pissed off expression softened as he announced, “This ain’t no audio drug. This is just some new age piano shit.” He threw the headphones across the room and yelled, “Where the hell are my audio drugs, bitch?!”

Lisa’s laughter suggested that she was never tired to begin with as it was full of energy and gusto. When asked what she was laughing about, she said, “Word of advice, Edge Spider, if that is your real name: when you give painful audio drugs to complete strangers, do a better job of wiping your personal data off of them. Then again, it’s not really your fault, is it? You did everything you could. It’s just that my team was better!”

“Team? What’s all this about a team?” asked Edge before his confused expression turned into a full-on quivering lip. “You ain’t no marine with Pussy-Traumatic Stress Disorder! You’re a cop! You set my ass up!”

“I sure did,” revealed Lisa. “Somebody had to do something about those audio files crushing people’s brains. You’re no healer. You’re just a common scumbag drug dealer, Edge. Every file you gave me has been uploaded to the police database. If I were you, I’d run like the wind.”

Instead of taking that wise advice, Edge chuckled evilly, pulled his automatic pistol from his pocket, and aimed the Freudian weapon at Lisa with a cocked barrel. “They ain’t gonna take me if I have a hostage. You look important enough to them folks at the po-po station. So come on, baby girl: on your feet. Put them silky smooth hands of yours behind your pretty little head.”

Lisa did as she was told, but did so with a wicked grin of her own. “Okay, sweet cheeks. You win!” She pulled a knife from her thick hair and threw it with a blinding quickness at Edge’s gun, shattering the weapon into pieces.

At first the gangster looked down at the metal parts with fright, but then threw his arms in the air and smiled as he said, “Nah, nah, nah, cutie pie. You’re the one who wins this time.” In one swift motion, Edge threw a roundhouse kick at Lisa’s face, spinning her around in the air before she tumbled onto her shag carpet floor. Edge yelled, “I ain’t gonna spend my life in no federal prison! Fuck this shit, I’m outta here!”

Just when Lisa was stirring, Edge booted down the apartment door and sped down the hallway with every ounce of athleticism he possessed. The janitor was still glaring at him with viper-like eyes. “Damn, dude! The hell’s wrong with yo ass?!” shouted Edge as he shoved the janitor out of the way. It seemed like he would have a clear path to freedom with an empty lobby and an empty stairwell.

And then the drug dealer felt something hook his ankle, causing him to roll down the stairs and bang his body on every sharp corner of the stairs. By the time he reached the lobby, he was holding his ribs and head while whining in pain. Some of his blood painted the stairs and the railing on the way down.

Once his vision cleared up, Edge looked at the top of the stairs to see that the old man had a hook at the end of his mop before he concealed it again like a switchblade. Lisa held her bruised face as she joined the janitor, who then hugged her and asked, “Are you alright, Baker?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the assist, Private. I’ll put in a good word for you at the station and we’ll see about getting you that promotion you’ve always wanted,” said Lisa. She looked down at the battered and broken gangster and said, “Here’s another piece of free advice, shit-head: treat the janitor with the same respect you give to the CEO.”

Edge spit out a wad of blood in a poor attempt to hit either Lisa or the undercover cop. “He ain’t no motherfucking janitor! Goddamn you two!”


The two cops trudged downstairs while the “janitor” ripped his wrinkly skin off to prove that he was actually a lot younger than his character suggested. Lisa rolled Edge on his stomach before cuffing his hands behind his back. “Edge Spider, I still don’t know if that’s your real name, but you’re under arrest for distributing illegal audio files. You have the right to legal counsel, which you’ll probably need since you can’t put together a decent sentence yourself.”

Friday, September 9, 2016

"Lament of the Fallen" by Andy Peloquin

BOOK TITLE: Lament of the Fallen
AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Dystopian Fantasy
GRADE: Extra Credit

Once a ruthless contract killer, the demonic Hunter now struggles with the voices in his head, which urge him to kill and feed his magical dagger Soulhunger despite The Hunter’s overwhelming guilt. Traveling aimlessly, The Hunter stumbles upon a battle in which a knight named Sir Danna and her apprentice Visibos are trying to fight off highwaymen. Against the voice’s wishes, The Hunter springs into action and earns the two knights’ trust by defeating the bandits. As the group of three travels together, he must keep his demon heritage a secret since the two knights are sworn hunters of his kind. How long can this charade last? What will be the consequences if he gets caught?

Just like with the Bucelarii book that came before this (Blade of the Destroyer), the battle sequences in Lament of the Fallen are well-thought out and realistic down to the last detail. Andy Peloquin has a black belt in multiple martial arts, so when he talks about sneaking into guards and the effects a simple strike can have on bones, he’s not joking around. The way The Hunter ignores his own suffering in order to win a battle represents the kind of toughness it takes to succeed in martial arts. He could have fire in his lungs, stinging sensations on his skin, and a head full of fog, yet The Hunter somehow manages to push the worst kind of pain to the back of his mind and finish his battles with a bloody passion. His stealthy fighting style and ruthless aggression make The Hunter one of the most feared opponents somebody could have in a fight.

Which brings me to my next point: The Hunter is more than a bloodthirsty killer. Despite his demon heritage, he has more humanity in his pinky finger than most of the people he encounters have in their whole bodies. His struggles to resist the urge to kill are believable and relatable to any reader. His need for friendship despite his murderous vocation makes him even more relatable. He may have the outer shell of a tough-minded killer, but deep inside lies a modicum of innocence that will always steer him towards the right path. He doesn’t kill because he enjoys it. He does it because he must. Maybe the voices in his head enjoy every bloodbath he goes through, but The Hunter is better than the demonic commands that threaten to control him. If you can’t get behind him right away as a reader, you will by the time the story is over.

But there’s one reason why this book has earned my ultra-rare five-star rating: because the voices in The Hunter’s head are reminiscent of modern day schizophrenia, which I have suffered from since 2002. The Hunter just wants his brain to shut the hell up and give him some peace. That’s all I wanted when I first started hearing my own voices as a teenager. I wanted it so badly that I would have committed suicide to obtain it if it hadn’t been for my loved ones talking me down. Because I can relate to The Hunter on a deep level, I want him to succeed in this story. I want him to find answers to his past. I want him to seek revenge on those who wronged him. I want him to find friendship in the unlikeliest places. It’ll be another five hundred years in The Hunter’s world before Risperdal is invented, so living with this sadistic dialogue in his head is even tougher for him. I feel for him and I want nothing but the best for him, despite the fact that he’s an assassin for hire.


Andy Peloquin knocked it out of the park when he wrote “Lament of the Fallen”. Everything about this book is believable from the fight scenes to the emotional traumas to the world building to the street folk’s reactions. You will find a lot of surprises as you flip through these pages and you will have an evil smirk on your face when The Hunter finds success in his journeys. Mr. Peloquin is one creative son of a gun and he deserves the highest praise for his hardest work. I don’t give five-star reviews that often anymore, so enjoy your success, Andy! Hold your head up high (unless of course you’re dodging a roundhouse kick).

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Lionization

***LIONIZATION***

Usually when I’m writing short stories for the WSS, the plots are heavily centered around things in life I want to demonize. “Vex Ed” demonizes abstinence-based sex ed classes. “Zion Heart” demonizes the notion that people who are against the Israeli government are also against the Jewish people. But this is just short stories. What about novels? If my short stories aim to demonize the worst parts of human life, should my novels then lionize the best parts? Demons and lions: such magnificent creatures that represent opposite ends of the positive-negative spectrum.

I’ve decided that lionizing my favorite parts of life was something I definitely wanted to do with my novels. Well, most of them. That’s what I’m trying to go for when I write “Demon Axe” chapters. While it is true that it takes a shot at nationalism and obsolete traditions, it also highlights the awesomeness of heavy metal music. In fact, heavy metal music will be not only the theme of this story, but also the solution. I won’t tell you how, but it’s in there, trust me.

And that got me thinking: what other parts of my life can I lionize with my creative writing? Well, for starters…


***ANIMALS***

It’s the worst guarded secret I have: I love animals, especially furry ones with sweet dispositions. It’s the reason why I use the word “pie” quite liberally when I describe cute animals or sweet people. I have two novel ideas called Catfight and LuNacho that will lionize animals if they ever come to pass. Catfight is Tori-centric and LuNacho is of course Luna and Nacho-centric.


***BARBARIANS***

Here’s another badly-guarded secret: I love barbarians. I use them as main characters for any fantasy RPG I can get my hands on whether it’s Dungeons & Dragons or Diablo II: Lord of Destruction. They’re big, muscle-bound, intense, scary, and quicker than cats. Oh, and they also love to use battleaxes. Barbaric Justice and Backwoods Barbarian will be the novel ideas that lionize these badass warriors. Backwoods Barbarian will finally be the one where my friend TJ’s orc warrior Agrusk Xis makes his literary debut, since the rise and fall of Fireball Nightmare. My paladin Charles Goodhorn will make his debut in Barbaric Justice.


***PORNOGRAPHY***

As a single man who frightens easily around beautiful women, I’m constantly looking for things on the internet to masturbate to. Yeah, that’s right. I said it. I’ve been jerking off since the age of 12 and my first wank was to Peta Wilson from the 90’s detective show “La Femme Nikita”. So far, I only have one novel idea that will lionize pornography: it’s cleverly titled 69 Bullets. Get it? 69? Har-dee-har-har. I’m sure Marie would have a field day critiquing that title.


***AUTHORS***

I’m a semi-professional author and it’s the best (and only) job I’ve ever had. You’re damn right I’m going to lionize the hell out of this occupation. Authors love their privacy, because it allows them to get their work done in an efficient manner. The main villain of Tender Loving Intensive Care threatens the author’s privacy, so he and his fiancĂ© beat the shit out of the villain. Seems reasonable to me when a simple police report would have worked. Or not. Actually, it doesn’t, which is where the author’s frustrations come to fruition.


***MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE***

I’ve been a schizophrenic since 2002, but I’ve struggled with suppressing traumatic memories and being depressed since my freshman year of high school. Naturally, I want one of my heroes to be just as fucked up as me. Thus we have Mario Bryan, the schizophrenic and socially awkward lead character of Watch You Burn, a novel I wrote back in 2015 and would love to edit the hell out of someday. Actually, it reads like an acid flashback, so editing might take longer than anticipated.


***DRAWING GROSS PICTURES***

When Susan was still living here at the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household, I would always draw pictures of cartoon characters doing violent things to each other and show them to her for a shocked reaction. She responded every time and I laughed my ass off. So I figured, why not lionize this special moment in time than with a novel called “Suck It, Double Dork”, where one of the drawings is of Eddy from “Ed, Edd, n’ Eddy” giving a blowjob to Kevin while the latter is standing on top of a coffin. That’ll make for some interesting literature.


***HEAVY METAL***

I’ve already mentioned Demon Axe’s impact on heavy metal, but did you know that I had a D&D-inspired novel idea called “Love, Lies, and Rock n’ Roll”? It’s about a homeless gay couple who play bard music on the streets for money, only to have a rightwing politician try to harass them with bullying tactics. Think of this story idea as being a cross between the movie “Any Day Now” and the memoir book “A Street Cat Named Bob” (with a little girl in place of the cat).


***INTROVERSION***

The silent warriors of our society don’t get enough credit for being themselves. Yes, Susan Cain has written a nonfiction book called “Quiet” to highlight the needs of introverts, but how many teachers out there still grade their students on participating in class conversations? Thus we have a novel idea called “Silent Warrior”, where high school senior Scott George lashes out at the unfair treatment he has received from his teachers and peers. Marie suggested that Scott not be so confrontational and I believe she makes a good point.


***LIBERALISM***

I don’t talk about politics that often, so when I write a novel about liberalism, I keep hoping that it’s special. I wrote “Filter Feeder” back in either 2013 or 2014 and it was a pro-environmental urban fantasy novel that was almost a knockoff of Final Fantasy VII’s Materia gimmick. Hopefully, I’ll do better with “It’s a Freak Country”, where a humanoid alligator is running for president and makes Donald Trump look like a Black Panther. This alligator candidate even has an orcish barbarian for a Vice President. Be afraid. Be very afraid!


***PRO-WRESTLING***

Occupy Wrestling is obviously my answer for lionizing this form of violent entertainment. But I also have a sequel to this story called “The Black Widow” planned out in minimal detail, where Debra Winter is the main hero and is still doing her ninja gimmick. I also have another wrestling story idea called “Monster’s Ball”, where a boring wrestler named George Kerry gets a werewolf curse put on him in order to make him more violent and exciting in the ring. Do I have to put dark fantasy elements in all of my wrestling stories? You’re damn right I do!


***CONCLUSION***

There are other aspects of my life I’d like to lionize such as Christmas celebrations and Halloween outings, but those don’t have novel ideas just yet. I’m working on it. Kind of. Maybe. I’d be nice if this cloudy weather didn’t sap every ounce of energy I have. Aw, who am I kidding? I love to nap during gray weather. Smokey loves it when I’m laying next to her, so it can’t be all that bad. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


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

With real life taking over the admins’ lives, we all had to wait a week for a new contest. But by god, we finally have one. The theme is “dramatic entrance” and my story is called “The Audiomancer”. It goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

Edge Spider, Cyborg Gangster
Lisa Baker, Human Soldier

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Edge makes a dramatic entrance into Lisa’s apartment.

SYNOPSIS: In a cyberpunk society, soldiers will go to great lengths to cure themselves of PTSD, even if those methods are dangerous. Lisa has been a customer of Edge’s since she returned home from an overseas war. Edge’s main product is audio files that give the listener the same psychological effect as a traditional recreational drug. Lisa has been hooked on these audio files for a long time, but can’t come up with the adequate payments for these drugs. The story begins with Edge coming to her apartment to collect his debt, even if he has to use violence and intimidation to get it.


***DEMON AXE***

Daniel Mercer is in no condition to do an interview with the police. Even so, Detective Shawn Henry decides Chapter 2 is the perfect time to ask him stupid bureaucratic questions. During this conversation, it is revealed that Daniel is experiencing Post-Traumatic Stress and that he’s seriously considering giving up his music career. I guess having his audience and band mates slashed to pieces will do that sort of thing to him.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

With Monzo Bleeder up and running, it’s time for a new Dark Fantasy Warrior to take his place. Meet Vulture Man, Daniel’s guitarist from Chapter 1 of Demon Axe. He obviously doesn’t last long and he’s far from being a warrior, but Vulture Man is unique enough that he deserves his own drawing. Hey, if Drew Carey can be in the WWE Hall of Fame, Vulture Man can be a Dark Fantasy Warrior. Deal with it.


***MUSIC JOKE OF THE DAY***

If Phil Anselmo’s group Down collaborates with Aaron Nordstrom’s group Gemini Syndrome, will their new heavy metal band be called Down Syndrome?

Sunday, September 4, 2016

Demon Axe, Chapter 1

Shrouded in darkness, the Lord of the Pit swirled his wooden ladle in the bubbling red concoction before him. The thickness of the liquid was like lava flowing in a volcano. The Lord, with his face painted as a skeleton and his long hair grayer than a cantankerous witch, looked down at his cauldron creation with a sadistic grin. His three cohorts, each of them donning black robes and vicious-looking masks, held out their steel bowls while the Lord of the Pit scooped and poured the demonic liquid into their dishes. “Drink it in, minions,” he said in a gravelly, haunting voice.

The first to consume his bowl of unholy soup was Pig Man, who as his name suggested wore the mask of a gray-skinned pig with tusks on either side and a brass nose ring through his snout. He also drank like a pig: quickly and sloppily, getting some of the brew on his robe. Pig Man let out an obnoxious burp to signify his satisfaction with his “meal”.

The second to feast upon the bubbling red muck was Vulture Man, whose mask bore a sinister scowl and a blade-like beak. Unlike his hoggish cohort, Vulture Man took small sips at first. Any trace of good dinner manners disappeared when he buried his face in his bowl and slobbered the liquid down. Instead of a burp, he let out a prolonged “Ah!” in a relaxed voice.

G-Pac, who wore the mask of a rotten-toothed, black painted, hollow-eyed clown, shook his head at his friends and chuckled with delight. “I’d say that hit the spot, wouldn’t you agree, Master?” The sinister clown drank his potion in one gulp and smashed the bowl over his head, shattering it into pieces. The mouth hole in his mask showed traces of an evil grin while a small trickle of blood ran down his forehead and into the cauldron.

“I truly am surrounded by pure gentlemen tonight,” said the Lord of the Pit, who took a swig from his own bowl and splashed it all over his gray trench coat and Demon Axe T-shirt. He threw his bowl off to the side and rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “And now my minions, join hands as I recite the Demon’s Prayer.”

With all four of these unholy clerics holding hands and bowing their heads with closed eyes, the Lord of the Pit spoke in his ominous voice. “Oh, Demon of Death, grant us your fire, your strength, and your passion. Let the masses join together in the circle pit and release their vicious energy. Don’t let our newest member, Pig Man, screw up tonight. And for god’s sake, Demon of Death, don’t let me be an asshole on stage. Don’t let any of my band mates say, ‘Too late!’”.

“Too late!” chimed in Vulture Man.

“And punish those who do!” said the Lord of the Pit, which earned a modicum of laughter from Pig Man, G-Pac, and even the smart-assed Vulture Man. The Lord pointed to the ceiling with his index finger and said, “That last one was for you, Master Carlin.” He ducked his head back down and said, “Alone, we are warriors of the music industry. Together, we are…”

“Demon Axe!” said the band mates in unison.

“Who are we?!” shouted the Lord.

“Demon Axe!”

“Amen, motherfuckers. Now let’s go out there and fuck shit up!”

The four members of the band released each other’s hands and marched their way beyond the stage curtain. With the stage lights dim and the audience chanting Demon Axe’s name, the band took their positions to the loudest of cheers. G-Pac sat at his drum kit, with his drum sticks resembling bloodied clubs. Vulture Man started strumming heavily on his electric guitar, the neck of which looked like the blade of a broad sword. Pig Man took his spot at the bass guitar, an instrument with strings that looked like pieces of ground up sausage.

The last band mate to take his position was The Lord of the Pit, who upon adjusting his battleaxe-shaped microphone received a thunderous ovation from the wild and crazy outdoor crowd. “What the fuck is going on, Paulson City?!” he shouted in his throaty voice, earning an even louder response from the audience. “You want to talk about some crazy shit?! We’re kicking this motherfucker off with Zombie-Ogre! Get that fucking circle pit going! One! Two! Three! Let’s go!”

The members of Demon Axe banged their heads and pumped out a heavy metal tune with a grinding guitar, a funky bass, and rapid-fire drums. The mosh pit in the audience intensified with every shove, resulting in bruises, bumps, and bloody gashes. With pyrotechnics bursting in the background, The Lord of the Pit began his lyrical assault on an already banged up audience.

“Eat, sleep, shatter, repeat! / Ultra-violence for human meat! / Winner, winner, chicken dinner! / The glutinous one is a true sinner! / Blood on his fangs, flesh on his tongue! / Poison in his gut, disease in his lungs! / Zombie-Ogre is coming to kill! / Cannibalism, a sadistic thrill!”

As Pig Man and Vulture Man screamed the chorus into their bone and skull microphones, The Lord of the Pit stopped head banging for a moment and had a faraway look in his eyes. He was probably accustomed to looking at ghosts all the time with his dark fantasy gimmick, but this time, he actually looked like he saw a ghost. His eyes were wide, his body was still despite the heavy metal thrashing going on, and he frowned his worst frown.

“Stop the music! Stop the goddamn music! Do it, now!” ordered the Lord of the Pit, to which the band mates reluctantly complied. The antsy audience cheered at their wildest level, clearly suffering from heavy metal withdrawal. The Lord pointed his finger out in the distance and said, “Stagehands, I want you to shine a big red light on that guy in the back. The one with the brown robe and the hood over his face. You’ll understand why in a minute. Just fucking do it!”

The red light was shining down upon the robed figure in the far back of the venue. Such an evil color seemed appropriate considering he was carrying a lengthy machete in his hands with blood dripping down from the blade. Audience members screamed and slowly backed away from him.

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Security Detail! You guys are sure earning your money tonight!” said a sarcastic Lord of the Pit with his arms flailing about. “Seriously, where the fuck are you guys?! How is it that not one bouncer has tackled this guy yet?! I guess he’s just a really good fighter, right? A whole group of three hundred pound men and not one of them can take down a jackass with a machete! It’s a simple matter of physics, people! A guy with a blade cannot fight off that many fat-assed bouncers! I don’t care if he’s the love child of Bruce Lee and a Xiaolin fucking monk! It’s damned near impossible!”

The audience booed and flashed downwards thumbs and middle fingers at the machete-wielding warrior, who didn’t flinch one bit. He just stood there as still as a statue and as stoic as the heartless killer he was. The Lord of the Pit continued his rant with, “I’ll tell you guys what. Since security is too lazy to do their fucking jobs, I’ve got a better idea on how we can handle this. Normally, I don’t encourage this kind of thing at my shows, but this asshole is giving us no other choice. How about this: you, the audience, form a circle pit around that guy and see how tough he really is when he’s got a whole army going up against him!”

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers and leonine roars, raising their fists to the skies and letting their mostly pierced tongues hang down from their mouths. “Are you ready?!” shouted the Lord of the Pit, to which the crowd cheered even more aggressively. “One! Two! Three! Get him!” The rowdy and animalistic crowd descended upon the machete fighter ready to beat his ass into powder.

Nobody counted on the mysterious warrior removing his hood to reveal green flesh and elongated ears, to which the crowd backed off and the Lord of the Pit shouted, “Holy shit!” The machete fighter threw one slash and lopped off the heads of several audience members, their necks gushing like volcanoes of blood and their bodies dropping to the ground almost instantly.

Audience members wailed and ran with their arms flailing in the air while the elfish murderer stabbed them in the gut, hacked off their arms and legs, and slashed their throats. In such quick and unrivaled movements, the elf turned this outdoor concert venue into an ocean of thick blood, splattered organs, shredded skin, and shattered bones.

Among the frightened people desperately trying to escape were the members of Demon Axe themselves. They looked like anything but unholy knights as they ran like Olympians behind the curtain, past the backstage area, and through the cheaply-built door, which the Lord of the Pit battered down with one shoulder tackle. With his mind scrambling in different directions, his heart beating like G-Pac’s double bass drums, and sweat raining from his painted skin, the Lord of the Pit shed his gray trench coat and bolted toward the Demon Axe tour bus. He shot up the stairs and made a football tackle onto the soft plushy couch.

The Lord’s breathing was heavy and raspy as he closed his eyes and sprawled out on the couch. He heard the bus doors close and the driver attempting to start the engine, which snapped him out of his exhausted state and forced him to look around for his band mates, none of whom were on the bus.

“Hold on a second! Driver, where the hell is everyone?! We can’t just leave them out there with this psychopath! Open the goddamn doors and let them in!” demanded the Lord of the Pit. As he frantically looked around, he saw something out of the window that made his bloodshot eyes shoot up in horror and load up with tears. The elf warrior stood outside the tour bus with a frightening smile on his face, audience members screaming and running in the background, and the severed heads and spinal columns of Pig Man, Vulture Man, and G=Pac in his fists.

While the elf was laughing evilly to himself, the Lord of the Pit banged on the window and shouted “No!” repeatedly in prolonged cinematic fashion. The bus’s engine finally started and the vehicle drove away into the night, the elf never taking his burning orange eyes off of the screaming and traumatized singer.

With the arena far behind him, the Lord of the Pit continued to scream and cry in agony at the thought of his former band mates decapitated by this monster of a human being, if he could be called that. He scrambled toward his mini refrigerator and pulled out everything from its confines whether it was lunch meat, ice cream, or what he was truly looking for, a gigantic bottle of booze.

The Lord eyed the bottle with heavy tears and heavy breathing. “This is just what I fucking need.” He quickly unscrewed the top and chucked the entire bottle in only a matter of minimal gulps. Once the bottle was empty, he smashed it against his head several times. The bottle finally broke after the fifth strike. With a bloodied scalp and a drunken, traumatized mind, the once mighty Lord of the Pit dropped down to his knees and fell flat on his face. He intended to sleep that way for the rest of this god-forsaken night.


“I’d get that wound wrapped up if I were you, Daniel,” said the driver, which earned him a lazy middle finger from the Lord of the Pit. Lord of the Pit? Who was he kidding? His band mates were dead. Most of his fans were dead. The whole dark fantasy gimmick was just bullshit. And now the man legally known as Daniel P. Mercer was just a sad drunk with paint and blood all over his face.

Friday, September 2, 2016

Open Bar Superstar

VERSE 1
Drink that beer like you’re dying of thirst
Let the poison set in then do your worst
Ranting and raving is what you’re craving
Putting up with you is considered slaving
You belong in the back of a police car
And nowhere near the cacophonic bar
Come back when you gain some IQ points
Realize the annoyance of your own noise

CHORUS
Open! Bar! Super! Star! X4

VERSE 2
You don’t have to be a nuclear scientist
Just have to sit down and be silent, bitch
You act foolish as you feel the drugs
I wish I had a gun with a chamber full of slugs
Use your fucking head before it explodes
Your body is dumped on the side of the road
It’s only fantasy, but it’s a damn good one
Killing your ass would be so much fun

CHORUS
Open! Bar! Super! Star! X4

VERSE 3
Don’t you dare get behind the wheel
Or a kick in the nuts is what you’ll feel
You’ve done enough damage for one day
To our ears and brains and it’s not okay
You stole the music from underneath us
The band drove away in their big tour bus
I guess being an idiot is punishment enough
For guys like you with your beer belly stuffed

CHORUS
Open! Bar! Super! Star! X4

BRIDGE
You’re an alcoholic, far from anonymous
Far from Einstein, far from an economist
Far from the fan that you claim to be

If you’re stealing music from guys like me

Milk Bottle Supermodel

VERSE 1
You have no reason to bitch and complain
Yet you still do it whenever you want fame
The body of a model and the face of an angel
Taking bloody shots from a sniper’s angle
You can call it bratty, you can call it entitled
But evil bitchiness is where it will be filed
History is not on your side and you know it
Try to fight it and you’re just going to blow it

CHORUS
Milk! Bottle! Super! Model! X4

VERSE 2
You’re a disgrace to your whole generation
You’re not even worth quick masturbation
You can’t get ratings for your own station
You can’t convince the entire fucking nation
That you’re more than a fireball of rage
That you’re more than a puppet on stage
That you’re better than the minimum wage
That you’re wise beyond your millennial age

CHORUS
Milk! Bottle! Super! Model! X4

VERSE 3
We see right through your tainted beauty
What we see makes us pissed and moody
A demonic soul with a heart full of holes
A hellish dwelling stacked high with coals
You could blame your parents or yourself
The way you think isn’t good for your health
Devils in one ear, drill sergeants in the other
We’re stronger than the fools you try to smother

CHORUS
Milk! Bottle! Super! Model! X4

FINAL BRIDGE
You can call it privilege, you can call it promise
You can call it ego, you can call it solace
No matter the words that you choose

You know in your heart you’re going to lose!

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Demon Axe

***DEMON AXE***

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

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

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


MAIN CHARACTERS:

Daniel Mercer, Heavy Metal Singer
Shawn Henry, Police Detective
Raven Triscloud, Elf Warrior
King Triscloud, Elf Leader
Roger Zee, Elf Zealot
Johnny Vega, Giant Wrestler
Sonia Marquez, MMA Fighter

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


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

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

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

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

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


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

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


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

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


-Slipknot singing “Eyeless”-