Idiocracy

MOVIE TITLE: Idiocracy

DIRECTOR: Mike Judge

YEAR: 2006

GENRE: Dystopian Comedy

RATING: R for language and suggestive dialogue

GRADE: Pass

You know how science fiction movies are supposed to be good at predicting the future? Even though this movie is set five hundred years from now, with our current political climate, it almost feels like Idiocracy’s prediction is right on the nose. Smart people are unsure and unprepared when it comes to having babies while idiots are so overconfident that they don’t mind polluting the earth with equally stupid crotch goblins. And then these defective genes are passed down through multiple generations and here we are. Corporate branding replaces commonsense. Macho manliness and crass humor replace kindness and decency. Gatorade replaces regular drinking water. Any kind of intellectual thought is met with homophobic and ableist slurs. Of course, Idiocracy takes all of this behavior to the extreme and that’s why it’s so hilarious. The citizens of this new dystopia have to rely on a mediocre white guy to fix all of their problems because he’s technically the smartest guy on earth. Again, does any of this sound familiar?

Yes, Idiocracy is just a comedy and it shouldn’t be taken super seriously. Yes, we can laugh until our ribs are broken and our lungs are punctured. But you know…there’s an awful lot of truth packed into these ninety minutes of screen time. Being true and funny at the same time will always earn the director bonus points. That is, unless there are a bunch of futuristic idiots watching a two-hour movie about somebody’s butt farting every once and a while. No story. No other plot points. Just farting and butts. And that movie won multiple academy awards, including best screenplay. Yeah, that happens in Idiocracy. Sad, but true. If this is the slow death our world must go through, why not laugh along the way? It’s better than crying, although tears would be better for dying crops than Gatorade (even though Gatorade has “electrolytes”, whatever those are). Four out of five stars for this ridiculous dystopian comedy! No wonder it became a cult favorite!

"So Much I Want to Tell You" by Anna Akana

BOOK TITLE: So Much I Want to Tell You: Letters to My Little Sister

AUTHOR: Anna Akana

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Memoir and Advice

GRADE: Pass

Whenever a You Tuber releases a book, they can’t seem to shake off the stigma that it’ll automatically be met with low expectations. Sometimes that paranoia is justified as we’ve seen with Gabbie Hanna’s poetry book and Lilly Singh’s autobiography. Anna Akana, on the other hand, has shattered that stigma with this piece of nonfiction. Yeah, there are times in this book where I wish she was more descriptive. Sometimes I wish this read like a professional novel and not like an outright telling. But you know what? If the content is good enough, mediocre writing styles don’t always matter. Anna Akana is wise beyond her years when it comes to giving advice based on her life experiences. Whether the topic is racism, sexism, bad relationships, mental illnesses, or whatever, she always delivers in a way that’s relatable and easy to digest. She doesn’t come off as condescending, but rather as an equal to the reader, which is part of what makes the advice relatable. You will feel like you’ve gained a lot from reading this short, but sweet memoir.

Out of all of the stories Anna tells in this book, the ones that hit me the hardest were her experiences with romances gone horribly awry. Like her, I too once believed in the idea of a fairytale relationship with fireworks and beauty all throughout, not an imperfection in sight. Real relationships are built on the idea of accepting flaws and being good for each other in spite of them. Some of Anna’s past relationships didn’t meet these criteria. One of her romances was with a serial cheater whom she thought she could “heal” because of his past traumas. He had a brother who committed suicide, she had a sister who committed suicide (the basis of her book), so why not bond over that? Turns out he was a toxic person anyways and had to be dumped. You know who else was toxic? An emotionally abusive screamer named Cameron. He yelled for no reason, cut her off from her friends and family, criticized her, and played the victim whenever he was called out for his ill behavior. Anna actually had to be told this was emotional abuse before she made the hard decision to dump Cameron. Reading these portions of the book tore at my heartstrings. Nobody wants to see Anna get hurt. Nobody wants her to feel unhappy because of someone she trusted. When she cries, you’ll probably cry as well. When she rises above the abuse and toxicity, you’ll feel inspired to do the same.

Even though the toxic romances hit me the hardest, I didn’t relate to them nearly as much as I did her experiences with mental illness. I’m autistic and schizophrenic, so the passages about easy burnout are all too familiar to me. I take medication for my problems and Anna did too even though she had to be thoroughly convinced to do so. She knows about the stigma of taking medication. She’s heard the comments about mental illness being “fake” and medication being for “weak-minded” people. But once she started taking her pills, she could manage her life efficiently and with a clear head. Granted, her medication didn’t completely solve her depressive and anxious problems; the pills just made those illnesses more manageable. She knows there’s no cure for such ongoing issues. But if life could just be a little easier, it could go a long way in getting things done and being an all around healthy person. Anna is a perfect spokeswoman for breaking the stigma of mental illnesses and I’m glad to have her as an ally. We don’t know each other on a personal level, but I already feel a connection because of the vulnerability she’s shown in this book and in her You Tube videos.

Anna Akana rises above her racist gatekeepers. She tackles her creative projects with a combination of passion and efficiency. She takes pride in her wealth of experiences and openly shares them with her loyal audience. She does all of this with warmth and humor, not arrogance and coldness. Is it any wonder why she has so many subscribers on You Tube? People want to gravitate towards her. They want to be sympathetic and empathetic to her life struggles. They want to be around her every chance they get and tell her how much her advice as changed their lives. Whoever scoffs at the idea of You Tubers putting out good books needs to have their eyes dragged across these pages until they learn something valuable. This book certainly has a lot to offer in that department and it’s why she gets a passing grade from me. If Anna’s suicidal sister were alive today, she’d be proud to have such a beautiful piece of writing dedicated to her. Rest in peace, Kristina Akana. We love you.

Chains of Codependence

***CHAINS OF CODEPENDENCE***

I’d like to preface this blog entry by saying that I’m by no means an expert when it comes to matters of the heart. Shocking, right? But it’s true. I’ve only been in two relationships my whole life and they’re over now, so any experience and wisdom I do have is incredibly limited. So when I write a piece of nonfiction about romance, I’m doing so from the point of view of a maladaptive daydreamer and a serial crusher. I’ve got a gazillion crushes going on in my head right now, mostly You Tubers and internet friends. Who are these crushes? Well, on that front, I’ll have to zip it, lock it, and put it in my pocket. Wouldn’t want to weird anybody out and make these lovely ladies keep their distance from me forever, Corona Virus aside. That’s always been a fear of mine whenever I open up and talk about romance or sex: that people will think I’m being creepy. I’m going to word this blog entry as carefully as possible, which is something I should have done with my entry about bastardizing fan fiction characters, but didn’t, and now it’s scrubbed from the internet. Ready? Here we go.

Serial crushing can be lots of fun as long as you’re doing it for entertainment purposes only. You can daydream about holding hands together. You can fantasize about your crush giving you a hug after a particularly draining cry spell. Me? I like to pretend I’m resting my head on my crush’s lap while she strokes my hair. By then I will have already showered and my hair will be softer than a Humane Society kitty baby. These kinds of fantasies can bring a smile to your face…until you start to bemoan the idea of never being able to attain a relationship with said crushes. I’ve done this before as you can tell. And the more you bemoan this idea, the more depressed you become. This is what I like to call the “Chains of Codependence”. Imagine that: being codependent on somebody who not only barely knows you, but also wouldn’t want a relationship anyways. Usually when people are codependent, it’s with someone who’s physically there. But if it’s a long distance stranger…my god, does that shit hurt.

But if you talk yourself through this logically, it doesn’t have to hurt anymore. You’re crushing on someone whom you have limited knowledge of, whether it’s a You Tuber, a celebrity, an athlete, or whatever. You only see the best version of that person unless they voluntarily become vulnerable, which is rare in and of itself. And because you’ve only seen their best side, you don’t often see them at their darkest. They may have views that you strongly disagree with. They may be drama queens when the cameras aren’t rolling. They could have a criminal secret that you won’t be aware of until it’s too late. This is information you can obtain if you’re in a solid relationship with someone. What you do with that information could negate your schoolboy crush from so long ago. You see memes floating around social media that say, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” While this might set off a few red flags, there’s actually a lot of truth in it should you decide to commit to a relationship.

As long as you’re aware of the illusion in front of you and as long as your chains of codependence are broken, you can have a lot of fun serial crushing on long distance targets. Fill your mind with happy thoughts of you and your crush together. Play your favorite romantic song while you’re zoning out. Write a poem or short story about the experience (without using the person’s real name, of course). I wrote a poem not too long ago called Hand Massage and it’s about, you guessed it, smearing lotion over my crush’s hands as a way not only to heal her cracked skin, but also to relax her and earn her trust. Hand Massage ended up being a favorite poem of mine in recent memory, in a sea of marginally acceptable ones. I was open, honest, unafraid, and most importantly, I didn’t sound like a total creep. That’s a small victory in my book. Even the smallest victories will be vital in the never ending war against your own mind.

In March alone, I’ve had so many days of autistic and schizophrenic burnout that my writing output has been minimal at best. During these boring days of lying in bed and doing jack shit until the tiredness passes, I like to keep my imagination fresh by daydreaming of…whatever comes to mind. I’ve had thoughts about my own stories, I’ve had positive thoughts, evil ones, and yes, romantic ones. With the current Corona Virus spreading like wildfire all over the goddamn planet, my fantasies will be more important now than they’ve ever been. Movie theaters are closed, rock concerts are being canceled, public life in general has screeched to a grinding halt. As long as I’m staying home waiting for both the virus and my burnout to subside, I’m going to have my thoughts to keep me busy for the time being. Whoever said, “Thinking is the best way to travel” was probably living in my hometown of Port Orchard and had nothing to do whether the virus was spreading or not.

By all means, daydream until you’re ready to face this maddening world yet again. You can get attached to your crushes, but don’t get so attached that your happiness depends entirely on them. Have fun with your downtime. The world will come back to life soon enough. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

The last time I wrote a chapter of Beautiful Monster was either March 1^st or 2^nd and I spent so long getting it pumped out that I began to doubt my abilities as a writer. I began to question whether or not I was being too cautious in my approach. Even now I’m debating with myself about whether the next chapter, number ten, will be written with caution and slowness or reckless abandon and quickness. No matter which style I choose, I hope I can remember all of my talking points this time. I’m going to need them. In this chapter, Windham and Tarja venture into Devon Bay, one of the Atwood Queendom’s major cities, so that they can keep warm in a hotel room during the freezing weather. If you’re going to make “Get a room!” jokes, get them out of your system, because there will be nothing sexy about what Windham does in this chapter with a Smoke Wagon XT, the medieval equivalent of a handgun. Good thing Ordell Robbie from Jackie Brown isn’t giving him access to firearms. Otherwise, he just might have to “absolutely, positively kill every last motherfucker in the room”.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Walking home with you last night, you said the world is beautiful and how things look that way when you’re in love. I love this world. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I opened up the letter that the postman gave to me this morning. Had to stop myself from shouting out, “I love this world!” When you’re in my arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. I want to be there when the age of love has come again. Tell me all about yourself and how you came to me like in a dream. And every night I dream of you. I dream of you. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. Don’t ask me where or when the time for us will come again. I sit and watch the sun go down. And in the darkness there’s no sound while in the sky tonight the stars all cry, “I love you!” Are they crying out over you? ‘Cause you’re in my arms. Is this heaven? ‘Cause the story starts and ends with you.”

-The Moody Blues singing “Is This Heaven?”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

You could totally use the above song as fodder for one of your romantic daydreams with your gazillion crushes. I know I do.

A Little Bit Off

Dr. Esther Villalobos hoped that the downpour outside would be sufficient in calming down her next patient. If not that, then the pictures of fluffy felines mounted on her walls. And if not that, then the musty smell of old books sitting on her shelves. Then again, perhaps the little things about her cozy office were just that: little. She knew full well that she had to be as delicate as possible when handling her newest client.

She remembered watching the media circus unfold on TV like it was yesterday. Every news anchor seemed to have an obsessive fixation on the demonic serial killer Lucy Butler. How she seduced and brainwashed her brilliant-minded abductees into believing their own mediocrity. How she played “Love Is Blue” by Paul Mauriat over and over again to drive that point home.

But the biggest thing that made Esther squirm in her chair all those days ago was how the media and subsequent viewers sexualized the hell out of Lucy Butler, whether it was her natural beauty, her alluring methods, or just because hybristophilia was still a thing in this day and age. People said the exact same things about Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer, so maybe it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise. Still, Esther shivered at the thought of romanticizing such a brutal killer.

“I could definitely use a cigarette right now,” said Esther to nobody in particular as she sat in her swivel chair tapping her foot.

The nicotine would have to wait a little longer. There was a halfhearted knock on her door and she said, “Come in”, which the visitor did. Sure enough, the centerpiece of these Lucy Butler stories, Landon Bryce, skulked through the office door looking like hell. His blondish brown hair looked like it hadn’t been combed since god knows when. His Linkin Park T-shirt and blue jeans were covered in what looked like corn chip dust. Hopefully, that wasn’t all he was eating lately, but Esther wasn’t banking on any other answers. After all, the life in his once pretty eyes had been completely drained and his face sagged to show off his lack of zest for life.

Landon’s most noticeable feature, however, was the bruises and cuts all over his bony hands. Esther was no detective, but she had to assume those bloody scrapes had something to do with him getting in fights as recently as a few days ago. He didn’t seem to notice his own damage as he just stood in the doorway shivering lightly and staring at nothing like the zombie he was.

“Good morning,” said Esther in a soft, benign voice that didn’t betray the fact that she was a smoker. “You must be Landon. I’m Dr. Esther Villalobos. Please, make yourself at home. There’s a seat on the leather couch with your name on it.” He was in no hurry to lay down on the couch, but once he did, he found the comfort he needed to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm whatever chaos was going on his mind. He still trembled, though. “Before we begin, do you want some Vaseline for your hands? They look like they could use some TLC.”

“Huh?” Landon just now noticed the scars on his hand and languidly answered, “Sure, okay.”

Esther pulled a bottle of Vaseline out of her desk drawers and squirted a few drops into her patient’s palms. Landon hissed in pain as he rubbed the grease all over his wounds, but by the time he was finished massaging his hands, they already looked a little bit better than they did before. Any improvement was a victory in Esther’s mind.

As Landon laid on the couch allowing his anxiety to wash over him, Esther sat in her swivel chair with a clipboard in her lap and a look of concern on her middle-aged face. Her black hair showed a few streaks of white and her sweater and slacks attire showed off her advanced age even more, which hopefully translated into wisdom for Landon and therefore into somebody he could trust with his woes.

Esther adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses. “So, Landon…we talked on the phone before we made this appointment official. We bounced ideas back and forth about what we wanted to discuss. From what I can tell, you have no desire to relive your captivity, so that’s not a topic I’m going to dig too deeply into. Besides, anybody within the sound of the media’s voice knows everything they need to know about Lucy Butler’s disgusting behavior. I’m more interested in what life has been like after Agent Frank Black rescued you and the other boys. So…I guess my first question to you is…how are you feeling right now? Take as much time as you need to answer that question. Go into as much or as little detail as you’d like. This is your session, Landon. You make the rules.”

Silence hung between them with the exception of Landon’s deep breathing exercises, though comforting to anybody else, seemed to have very little effect in steadying his nerves. He had been through a lot, it seemed. “Well, Esther, I don’t think anybody really cares how I’m feeling right now…But to answer your question…I’m exhausted…I’m tired of fighting my own mind…But I know that if I fall asleep…I’m just going to have another nightmare about that woman…Every time she kissed me…Every time she felt me up…The same goddamn song over and over again…”

He sniffed a few times in between sentences and wiped a small tear from his eye before continuing. “You know…I haven’t told anybody this…But since we’re in therapy…Sometimes…after a really bad nightmare…where she gets to do whatever she wants with me…I lock the door to my bedroom…draw the curtains…take my pants off…and…and…” He wiped another tear from his eye.

Esther filled in the blanks of his statement right away and nodded. “I see.” She wrote down on her clipboard that in addition to PTSD, he appeared to be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, hence the masturbation.

He continued. “I know I shouldn’t be doing that to her…I hated being in her company…Every time I do it…I hate myself for it…I keep wondering…if the ceiling fan above my room will be enough to support my weight…”

“Landon…listen to me. I know suicide sounds tempting, but it’s not the solution to your problems. You came here today because you wanted relief from it all. You secretly want to live again. There’s not much life in your eyes right now…but I can see just enough that you care deeply about your recovery. Please reconsider.”

“I sometimes wish the kids and teachers at my school would feel the same way…When I was rescued…I went straight back to that…school…if you can call it that…I wasn’t ready…I never was…but I didn’t speak up…I was expected to just soldier on like nothing happened…I wasn’t allowed to ask the world to slow down for me…And right off the bat…everybody noticed…Everybody knew…and they teased me for it…Called me every homophobic slur in the book…said I should have liked being with such a sexy woman…”

“As if being beautiful excuses her appalling actions.”

“Exactly…You know…sometimes…I wish I was ugly…I wish I had a face full of pimples…a three hundred pound beer gut…not a hair on my head…That way…nobody would try to seduce me again…Nobody would tell me they loved me without really meaning it…”

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for a moment. There’s something you need to know about that.” Esther sighed and removed her glasses. “How attractive you are has nothing to do with whether or not you were molested. Do you understand? Seduction is just one of thousands of ways in which someone can hurt you. If someone wants to hurt you badly enough, they’ll find a way to do it. It’s not you…it’s them.”

Landon sniffled again. “Try telling that to my ex-girlfriend.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure I’d call her that, but…after I was rescued…we went on one date together…When she asked me out…I was having a particularly shitty day…I leaned against my locker at school just waiting for the waterworks to come out…She could have greeted me any way she wanted to…She could have said hi…She could have smiled at me…You know what she did?...She ran her nails down my back…On one hand it felt like a nice massage…On the other…it reminded me too much of Lucy…and…I ended up saying yes to her….Like I had something to prove to all of my bullies…Like I wanted to dispel all of those times someone called me a faggot or a queer…She said she liked me for my…’experience’…I was disgusted with her saying that…and I said yes to her anyways…”

Esther took more notes on her clipboard after putting her glasses back on. “How did your date go?”

“About as well as you’d expect it to…I was all numbed out…I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying…or what the plot of the movie was…Hell, I couldn’t even concentrate in school…That’s why my grades look like shit…I couldn’t even tell if me and my girl had a good time…But when it was over…and she tried to kiss me goodnight…I freaked out…Her lips…they tasted like Lucy’s…All of the sudden…I wasn’t seeing a blond sweetheart anymore…I saw Lucy…I ran away from her screaming…”

“She doesn’t sound like a very considerate girlfriend to me.”

“That’s why we never saw each other again…But at school…the gay slurs…the rape jokes…the pushes…the shoves…they started getting worse…I was constantly throwing up in the bathroom…I was crying my eyes out when nobody would see me…I would sometimes try to leave school on my own…But it was never enough…You want to know why I have scars on my hands?...Because one day…after one of those kids caught me crying…they laughed at me…and laughed…and laughed…so I did the one thing I knew would get me kicked out of school forever…I beat their asses…I punched them so hard their noses broke…their teeth crunched…I kneed them in the balls…kicked them in the ribs…I just kept seeing red…and it was glorious…It gave me the relief I needed…So beautiful…” He punctuated that last line with a smile, giving Esther her own form of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for now. You look like you need to stop as well.” Esther took her glasses off again and folded her hands in her lap. “You sound like you’re going through some heavy mental trauma. The lack of concentration, the nightmares, the vomiting, the lack of eating…you can’t live like this any longer. Something has to be done about it. I’m not going to lie to you, Landon. The road to recovery is going to be a long one. It’s going to be tiring. And it’s also going to depend on how far you’re willing to go to achieve your healing. Tell me, Landon…” She leaned in closer. “What are you willing to do to make this pain go away?”

The tears came more frequently and Landon gave up on trying to stop them. “Anything…anything at all…”

“Anything?”

“Yes, damn it, anything!”

“Good…because what I’m about to suggest to you…is so illegal…that you can’t tell anybody about it. You can only do it while you’re in my office. If I get caught administering this to you, I could not only go to jail, but I’d never be able to practice medicine again, which you in turn won’t find your healing. Are you ready?”

“I’m sick of crying all the time…I want to eat food that doesn’t taste like my kidnapper…You’re damn right I’m ready…”

Esther pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked a bottom drawer before pulling out a vaping pen and handing it to Landon.

“Is this what I think it is?...You want me to smoke marijuana?...I can’t…No, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I was already in one prison when Lucy kidnapped me…I don’t need to go to another for smoking pot…”

Esther leaned in closer. “Landon…you said you would do anything for relief. You’re not going to find that relief in Xanax or Sertraline. Marijuana has no side effects. It’s not a codependency. It actually does its job in a quick amount of time. Landon, you’re already in a prison. You’re a prisoner of your own mind. And that vaping pen? That’s the key to your cell.”

“Pfft…Yeah right…”

Esther shook her head. “What happened to you, Landon? Before you were kidnapped and molested, you raged against the machine. You told your teachers to shove those C+’s up their asses. Where’s that rebellious spirit?”

“It’s gone, Esther. Every time I rebel against the system, somebody gets hurt.”

“Doing nothing will get even more people hurt.”

“Maybe Lucy was right all along. Maybe mediocrity is all I’ve got left. Maybe those C+’s on my report card…”

“Enough!” Esther interrupted. “Those C+’s and D-‘s? They’re just letters on a piece of paper, no different from the other letters. They don’t determine your self worth. Demonic serial killers with a fetish for bad music don’t determine your self worth either. You do. You know you weren’t destined for a boring life. You know deep in your heart you want to save the world. The more you fight your rebellious urges, the stronger they become. You may not know it right now, but the world needs your voice.”

“Tell that to the bullies at my…”

“I’m telling you!” Esther snapped. After watching Landon jump out of his skin, she apologized and fixed her own clothing. “Landon…Lucy Butler doesn’t love you…and those kids at school? They don’t matter. You do. Only you get to define what love means to you. Kidnapping someone and sexually torturing someone isn’t love. Love is free and kind, not forceful and toxic. You know this in your heart. You still have a heart after all this time. That’s why you’re here, to help yourself realize it. Please, Landon…you are taking a big risk by smoking that pen…but no amount of greatness comes without danger…You…were destined for greatness…”

Judging from the singular tear drops running down Landon’s face, Esther had hope that she had gotten through to him. And then…he took a puff of the pen. But when he blew out the vapors, he coughed like he was losing a lung. Esther said, “Sorry. Takes some getting used to.”

But once the coughing was over, so was the trembling. The tears on his cheeks were replaced by gentle redness. His once glassy eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and relaxed instead of labored and intensive. He seemed to sink to the leather couch in an attempt to fall asleep and hopefully have a dream about something other than molestation.

Esther smiled. “I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing, Landon. I already have the answer.”

“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Pfft…Who gives a shit?”

“My next patient won’t be here for a long time. You can take a quick nap if you’d like. I won’t mind.”

Landon was already one step ahead of her, breathing gently and allowing his head to roll over in relaxation. If he did give a response, it was jumbled and incoherent. Esther patted him on the head before sneaking out of her office and shushing her secretary.

By the time Esther went outside, the downpour had stopped and the sun was out. But for how long? Long enough for Esther to finally smoke that cigarette she earned. She pulled out a Camel and lit it with a match before taking a few drags. Like Landon with his vaping pen, Esther too relaxed as she leaned against the brick building. But at the same time, she looked at her cigarette with mild disgust.

“Don’t ever smoke these, Landon. We need that voice of yours to be as loud as possible…”

Like Roses

Your shit doesn’t smell like roses

It’s an assault on all of our noses

Yet you do your supermodel poses

While you piss on truth with hoses

Your seed doesn’t grow superheroes

Your sperm count is damn near zero

Skin color doesn’t make you superior

Doesn’t sweeten your ugly interior

No hospital would call you a doctor

No subordinate would be your fodder

A tiny brain in your oversized head

Your generation’s ways are dead

Everybody wants to save the world

With their favorite flags unfurled

Everyone wants to be right all the time

But nobody wants the uphill climb

You reserve the right to be smug

While you’re giving yourself a tug

We reserve the right to call you out

To make you question, make you doubt

To make you feel some discomfort

To make you feel quite humble

You’re not the king of our earth

Not the chosen one since birth

Your prophecy arc was based on lies

Even you pump gas, cook our fries

Let’s see you work for buffalo nickels

My burger doesn’t have enough pickles

But don’t worry, you’re still number one

The platform on which you should run

Maybe your shit really smells like roses

Or you’re high on your own overdoses

Spice

VERSE 1

Yelling with no reason for yelling

Not enough showing, too much telling

Salty for the sake of being salty

Argument falls apart, too faulty

You have to know when to surrender

When to stop playing the role of defender

Not every hill is worth dying on

Not every shoulder is worth crying on

CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

VERSE 2

Say you’re sorry, it’s all they need

The best advice for you to heed

Too much spice ignites the fire

Too much fighting makes you tire

It’s not a sign of infinite weakness

To know when you’ve been defeated

Ratings aren’t worth all the screaming

Nightmare fuel is what you’re dreaming

CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

BRIDGE

Jalapeno pizza and habanera chicken wings

These are a few of our favorite things

Spicy anger mixed with salty prose

Don’t let these be your lowest lows

VERSE 3

It’s always okay to ask for forgiveness

It’s a beautiful thing to behold and witness

Vulnerability makes heroes of us all

Unlike the endless hunger to assault

EXTENDED CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice! Even more of it will suffice!

Addicted to the drama like it’s a real vice

Spice! Spice! It’ll all come with a price!

Rolling snake eyes when you throw the dice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

Hand Massage

A downpour outside, a perfect day for love

So many places I’d love to gently touch

My god, your hands! Cracked and rough

Scarred from the days of being so tough

Jagged nails on the tips of your fingers

Scratching and clawing, the fighting lingers

Palms sore from the openhanded slaps

You gave to men who left you trapped

Your hands have seen much better days

No worries, I’ll soothe the pain away

A few drops of lotion before we play

Running my fingers across your skin

The lights above so hazy and dim

Relax as the cream moistens your hands

A radiant massage from your favorite man

Thumbs encircling your sorest places

Fingers together in romantic laces

Soon your hands will be silky smooth

A joy to hold as we tell each other truths

A pleasure to feel against my muscles

We come together with kisses and nuzzles

I’m glad we could have this time today

We could lay together and forever stay

The world could wait until tomorrow

Another massage to drown your sorrows?

Nothing else to do in this rainy tempest

I’ll be the incubus, you be the temptress

You’re not even real, but I can still dream

Maladaptive fantasies of heaven and cream

Much better than the real world around me

Where Washington rain tries to drown me