MATCH: Dean Ambrose vs. Kevin Owens in a Last Man Standing match for Ambrose’s Intercontinental Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Royal Rumble
YEAR: 2016
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Working the independent circuit in professional wrestling will put hair on your genitals. Working that many matches around the world will give you a myriad of styles that will ultimately become your move set. In Mexico, the luchadors fly around the ring like ninjas. In Japan, they hit each other hard enough to turn the human body into one big purple bruise. In Europe, they do the exact same thing, but with emphasis on technical brawling instead of honor-bound martial arts. And then when you finally make your trip to WWE NXT and ultimately their main roster, you’ll have the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.
Such are the success stories of Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens, two badass warriors who cut their teeth for over a decade on the independent circuit. Dean Ambrose has United States and Intercontinental Championship reigns under his belt while Kevin Owens has NXT gold and an Intercontinental belt reign as well. At the Tables, Ladders, and Chairs pay-per-view in 2015, it was Dean Ambrose who won his first IC Championship from Kevin Owens. Ever since then, Owens has been in a horrible mood, bullying and brutalizing anybody in his path, Ambrose included.
There was only one way a rivalry of this much hatred could be settled: Last Man Standing rules at the Royal Rumble. There are no pin-falls, submissions, count-outs, or disqualifications. All you have to do to win this match is beat the living shit out of your opponent so badly that he cannot answer the referee’s ten-count. Heel announcer John Layfield put it best when he said the only thing limiting the competitors in this match is their own imaginations.
When you’re called The Lunatic Fringe like Dean Ambrose is, your schizophrenic visions pretty much guarantee you a colorful and violent imagination. Kevin Owens is a brawler by nature, so he’s no less dangerous with a steel chair or a wooden table. Ambrose and Owens wasted no time in putting their violent visions to good use. They started the match by slugging it out and watching each other get dizzy.
Then the action spilled to the outside and things really got chaotic. Kevin Owens was launched over the English-speaking announce table and landed in Michael Cole’s lap, thus breaking the poor guy’s glasses. Once he got power back in his headsets, Cole was actually cheering on Ambrose when he was swinging a bamboo cane at Owens.
Once the toys were out, they didn’t go to waste, no, sir. Kevin Owens power bombed Dean Ambrose through steel chairs, spear tackled him through the time keeper’s barricade, and fisherman suplexed him through a wooden table. And Ambrose was still staggering to his feet ready for a fight! The man doesn’t quit!
Then it was Ambrose’s turn to put a serious beating on his opponent. A double arm DDT on a steel chair would do the trick. So would an elbow drop through the Spanish announce table. And then there were more whacks with the bamboo stick. The steel stairs had seen crashes and burns from both men.
After enduring all of this hardcore violence, you would expect both men to be bleeding, burned out, and ready for ambulance rides. Hell, they hit each other so hard that maybe a hearse was necessary. They stood up on wobbly legs and punched each other some more. Kevin Owens gave his opponent a pop-up power bomb and Ambrose, being the loony tune he was, got up and wrapped a steel chair around Owens’ head before boxing him in the face.
A normal man would have quit under these combative circumstances. He would have nightmares for months and would have chugged enough Xanax to kill an elephant. He would have had hospital bills that most one-percent billionaires couldn’t even afford. These two warriors aren’t normal men. They get up and smash each other some more with steel chairs, bamboo canes, fists, feet, and head butts. And then they smash each other some more. And smash each other some more. At this point, the referee could count to a thousand. He could wait for a whole decade to go by and they would still thrash each other endlessly.
But it was one mistake by Kevin Owens that cost him the match. He set up two wooden tables outside the ring and stacked one on top of the other. Owens was also perched on the top turnbuckle, presumably for a moonsault. And then Dean Ambrose jolted back to life once more and shoved Owens off the turnbuckle, sending the Canadian grizzly crashing through both tables. Owens shivered several times in his laying position, but made no attempt to pull himself to his feet. At the count of ten, Dean Ambrose was declared the winner and undisputed Intercontinental Champion.
With the crowd chanting “This is awesome!” and carrying their momentum into the Royal Rumble match itself, it’s clear there were no losers in this match. Dean Ambrose is the rightful IC Champion, but Kevin Owens is a winner too in my mind. Those two beat the living shit out of each other so badly that they limped their way into the Royal Rumble match. How they weren’t even in wheelchairs was a mystery to everybody there. How Kevin Owens managed to eliminate fellow independent wrestler AJ Styles is beyond me. How Dean Ambrose was one of the final two men in that match left standing is something that would stump Nostradamus.
The fact that two men could put on an apocalyptic brawl and still be able to compete later on in the night should be a testament to how tough pro-wrestlers are. Getting clotheslined or body slammed is bad enough. Being driven through tables, smashed with a kendo stick, and slammed through steel chairs takes more guts than the stomach has room for. It was amazing Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens didn’t have their own guts spread all over the arena that night. Yes, it’s a TV-PG rated pay-per-view, but you wouldn’t know it from how banged up and battered these ring warriors were afterwards. I’d even say this is an early contender for Match of the Year in 2016. Congratulations, you two. You just made an entire arena full of people shit their pants with excitement. Now it REALLY looks like a battlefield out there!
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
Barber Talk
Pete Silva didn’t just have a fuzzy head of hair; he had a national forest. It was hanging in his eyes, his ears, and sometimes his mouth. It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone if squirrels and chipmunks actually lived in that dandruff infested scalp of his. Getting his hair chopped off was the easy part. Maintaining a conversation with his hairstylist required social skills he didn’t want nor possess. All this talk about useless shit that didn’t matter in the end left Pete feeling exhausted afterwards. Just buzz my damn hair and get on with the show, he said in his mind.
It seemed as though every barber or hairstylist establishment he went to had an all extrovert policy. Just yack, yack, yack, all the time. When he waddled his heavy ass into The Men’s Club, he could tell right away it was going to be more of the same. Every hairstylist was busy cutting hair and they were all motor-mouthing at one hundred miles per hour. “Oh, shit,” Pete said softly to himself.
He considered turning around and getting his haircut somewhere else when a girl with a cutesy voice said, “Hi! Are you Pete Silva?” He just had to make an appointment didn’t he? The voice belonged to a petite woman with long blond hair with pink streaks in it. Her black tank top and black pants looked cute on her, but Pete clearly didn’t come here for a date. The pink-haired woman said, “I’m Natalie Altar and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. So what kind of haircut are we doing today?”
“Uh…uh, just a buzz cut with half an inch of hair all around,” said Pete in his usual flat affect voice. Natalie summoned him to her station with a wave of her finger and sure enough, all three hundred plus pounds of Pete Silva came crashing down in the plush barber’s chair. Natalie jumped backwards at the sudden plop, but shook her head no dismissively and wrapped the obligatory cape around her client.
As soon as the hairstylist pulled out the shears, the obligatory chitchat began. “So what do you do for a living, Pete?”
There was never an easy way for the shaggy-haired client to answer this question. As long as this woman was going to make him feel awkward, he was going to do the same with her. “I’m unemployed,” he said in an Eeyore voice.
Natalie was just about to turn the clippers on and then froze while darting her eyes from side to side at the nonchalant response. “Okay, um…okay!” She turned them on and wasted little time in trimming Pete’s wheat field of hair. She let out little nervous giggles as she tried to figure out what to ask this gentleman next. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
Pete Silva remained stoic and nonchalant when he said, “Stuff.” When he was asked what kind of “stuff”, Pete said, “The usual stuff.”
Once again Natalie Altar’s eyes darted from place to place and she could see other hairstylists and customers staring at her and Pete. She tried to speed up her shaving motion to end this conversation as quickly as possible, but she pulled one of his hairs and Pete let out a grizzly bear roar of pain. “Sorry!” Natalie said as she held her face in her free hand in embarrassment.
There was silence between client and hairstylist for just a little while, but already, Pete’s head was looking a lot cleaner and more comfortable. Natalie then made the mistake of asking yet another foolish question: “So, have you lived in Paulson City all of your life?” As soon as she got the world’s most bored “No,” response, she could have let it go right there. Instead, she asked, “Where are you from?” In the same unexcited tone, Pete Silva said, “Here!”
Natalie let out a sigh and hung her head as she continued to shave Pete’s. Before she knew it, the awkward conversation and the job itself was finished. Pete Silva looked like a new man with a clean scalp and the remains of his hair circled around his feet like a puppy warming his toes.
Letting the awkwardness dissolve into thin air was probably the wisest move that could be made. But yet again, Natalie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She rested her arm on the barber’s chair and looked at Pete through the mirror judgingly before saying, “It’s all done, Mr. Silva. Although, if I could say one thing…you really…really…really need to work on your social skills.”
“What’s wrong with my social skills?” asked Pete in the same medicated tone he’d been using since he entered The Men’s Club.
“Well, it’s not so much the fact that you don’t care about this conversation; it’s how you said the things you said. For example, you didn’t have to tell me that you were unemployed. You could have said that you were looking for work or that you were in between jobs,” said Natalie.
“But I’m not looking for work,” explained Pete. “Every time I apply somewhere, the supervisor is too much of a cheap bastard to hire me.”
Natalie’s eyes shot up and her jaw dropped to the ground. “Wow, Pete! You think your social skills or lack thereof might have something to do with you being unemployed?”
Pete shrugged his chubby shoulders and said, “Why should they? I didn’t apply for customer service.”
“Yes, but you still have to make a good impression in the job interview! If you talk to your supervisor the way you talked to me tonight, nobody’s going to hire you!” said Natalie with flying hand gestures. Pete used the sides of the chair to help himself to his feet and started to walk away. “Hey, where’re you going? You haven’t paid your bill yet!”
Pete turned around and shoved his sausage finger in Natalie’s face as he said, “Hey, listen, jerk! Maybe the reason I didn’t give you the answers you wanted tonight was because I don’t like having meaningless conversations! You stand there and you ask a bunch of pointless questions about my economic status and you’re never satisfied with the answers! Well, not everybody who comes in here enjoys yakking about stupid bullshit! Why don’t you talk about something I’m actually interested in!”
“You never told me what you were interested in! You just said, ‘The usual stuff!’” said Natalie, the last part being a mockery of Pete’s bass voice.
“That’s because nobody else in this fucking city shares my goddamn values! Do you know of anyone else here who watches wrestling and plays Dungeons & Dragons? No, because those people don’t exist here! I didn’t have any friends in college and I don’t have any friends now! So unless you know somebody who shares the same shit that I do, then that’s how it’s going to stay for a long, long time!” shouted Pete, attracting the watching eyes of hairstylists and customers alike.
“So is that what it takes for somebody to be your friend? They have to like the same things you do? But that’s not what friendship is about! It’s about opening your mind to different things! You think all of my friends are into dance music and reality shows? No, they’re not! But they’re still my friends because I allow them to be! You need to open up every once and a while! Maybe if you told me more about your passions, I would have listened! But instead you kept giving me these lame answers!” screamed Natalie.
The shouting match was turned up to maximum volume when Pete stuck his chubby jowls into Natalie’s heart shaped face and yelled, “You want to know what I used to do for a living?! Huh?! I was a janitor!” Natalie shrugged her shoulders in a half-scared, half-confused manner. She was definitely backing off and quaking in her sandals after that outburst. Pete explained, “I was a janitor at a porn theater! I cleaned up stuff that would make everyone in this room barf all over the floor!” While he didn’t get barf, one customer gagged.
Pete breathed heavily in and out while Natalie’s eyes along with everyone else’s were wide in horror. He said in a lower and calmer voice, “Here’s the deal. I don’t know how to work a cash box and I don’t know how to cut hair. I majored in psychology when I was going to college, so that means I have even less skills. But if you’re so interested in teaching me about social skills, making friends, and having a good job, maybe YOU should hire me. I’m sure there’s something here I can do. Otherwise, I have no problem with living off weekly checks from my mom.”
Natalie sighed and held her forehead in her hand while contemplating everything Pete said. She breathed deeply in and out to stave off nervousness and then opened her eyes again to give Pete the verdict. “Here’s what I’m willing to do,” she said in a calm voice, much like Pete’s. “You said you were a janitor at…that place before you lost your job.” She tried not to say “porn theater” since those two words together made her shiver. “There’s a broom and a dustpan in the back closet. If you agree to sweep the floors tonight, I will take you to a fast food restaurant of your choice and…pay for your meal.”
Pete smiled for the first time since arriving and looked around at the hairy tiled floor. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said in his best Captain Obvious voice.
“It is,” said Natalie. “That means you’re getting a super-sized meal tonight. And if you do a good enough job, maybe this will turn into a full-time thing. And when it does, you and I are going to be opening up to each other a lot more. So what do you say? Does this sound good to you or not?”
Pete took a moment to consider the deal and nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Natalie. “If this ends up becoming an actual job, don’t tell people you sweep up hair for a living. You could just say, ‘I work at The Men’s Club’. I mean, when you worked at…that place before here…did you seriously tell people you were mopping up…you know…?”
“What?” Pete asked. “You mean dude nectar?”
Natalie screamed in disgust while covering her ears and saying, “La-la-la!” over and over again. The patrons and other hairstylists on the other hand were laughing their asses off. One of the male clients said, “He’s a keeper!”
It seemed as though every barber or hairstylist establishment he went to had an all extrovert policy. Just yack, yack, yack, all the time. When he waddled his heavy ass into The Men’s Club, he could tell right away it was going to be more of the same. Every hairstylist was busy cutting hair and they were all motor-mouthing at one hundred miles per hour. “Oh, shit,” Pete said softly to himself.
He considered turning around and getting his haircut somewhere else when a girl with a cutesy voice said, “Hi! Are you Pete Silva?” He just had to make an appointment didn’t he? The voice belonged to a petite woman with long blond hair with pink streaks in it. Her black tank top and black pants looked cute on her, but Pete clearly didn’t come here for a date. The pink-haired woman said, “I’m Natalie Altar and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. So what kind of haircut are we doing today?”
“Uh…uh, just a buzz cut with half an inch of hair all around,” said Pete in his usual flat affect voice. Natalie summoned him to her station with a wave of her finger and sure enough, all three hundred plus pounds of Pete Silva came crashing down in the plush barber’s chair. Natalie jumped backwards at the sudden plop, but shook her head no dismissively and wrapped the obligatory cape around her client.
As soon as the hairstylist pulled out the shears, the obligatory chitchat began. “So what do you do for a living, Pete?”
There was never an easy way for the shaggy-haired client to answer this question. As long as this woman was going to make him feel awkward, he was going to do the same with her. “I’m unemployed,” he said in an Eeyore voice.
Natalie was just about to turn the clippers on and then froze while darting her eyes from side to side at the nonchalant response. “Okay, um…okay!” She turned them on and wasted little time in trimming Pete’s wheat field of hair. She let out little nervous giggles as she tried to figure out what to ask this gentleman next. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
Pete Silva remained stoic and nonchalant when he said, “Stuff.” When he was asked what kind of “stuff”, Pete said, “The usual stuff.”
Once again Natalie Altar’s eyes darted from place to place and she could see other hairstylists and customers staring at her and Pete. She tried to speed up her shaving motion to end this conversation as quickly as possible, but she pulled one of his hairs and Pete let out a grizzly bear roar of pain. “Sorry!” Natalie said as she held her face in her free hand in embarrassment.
There was silence between client and hairstylist for just a little while, but already, Pete’s head was looking a lot cleaner and more comfortable. Natalie then made the mistake of asking yet another foolish question: “So, have you lived in Paulson City all of your life?” As soon as she got the world’s most bored “No,” response, she could have let it go right there. Instead, she asked, “Where are you from?” In the same unexcited tone, Pete Silva said, “Here!”
Natalie let out a sigh and hung her head as she continued to shave Pete’s. Before she knew it, the awkward conversation and the job itself was finished. Pete Silva looked like a new man with a clean scalp and the remains of his hair circled around his feet like a puppy warming his toes.
Letting the awkwardness dissolve into thin air was probably the wisest move that could be made. But yet again, Natalie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She rested her arm on the barber’s chair and looked at Pete through the mirror judgingly before saying, “It’s all done, Mr. Silva. Although, if I could say one thing…you really…really…really need to work on your social skills.”
“What’s wrong with my social skills?” asked Pete in the same medicated tone he’d been using since he entered The Men’s Club.
“Well, it’s not so much the fact that you don’t care about this conversation; it’s how you said the things you said. For example, you didn’t have to tell me that you were unemployed. You could have said that you were looking for work or that you were in between jobs,” said Natalie.
“But I’m not looking for work,” explained Pete. “Every time I apply somewhere, the supervisor is too much of a cheap bastard to hire me.”
Natalie’s eyes shot up and her jaw dropped to the ground. “Wow, Pete! You think your social skills or lack thereof might have something to do with you being unemployed?”
Pete shrugged his chubby shoulders and said, “Why should they? I didn’t apply for customer service.”
“Yes, but you still have to make a good impression in the job interview! If you talk to your supervisor the way you talked to me tonight, nobody’s going to hire you!” said Natalie with flying hand gestures. Pete used the sides of the chair to help himself to his feet and started to walk away. “Hey, where’re you going? You haven’t paid your bill yet!”
Pete turned around and shoved his sausage finger in Natalie’s face as he said, “Hey, listen, jerk! Maybe the reason I didn’t give you the answers you wanted tonight was because I don’t like having meaningless conversations! You stand there and you ask a bunch of pointless questions about my economic status and you’re never satisfied with the answers! Well, not everybody who comes in here enjoys yakking about stupid bullshit! Why don’t you talk about something I’m actually interested in!”
“You never told me what you were interested in! You just said, ‘The usual stuff!’” said Natalie, the last part being a mockery of Pete’s bass voice.
“That’s because nobody else in this fucking city shares my goddamn values! Do you know of anyone else here who watches wrestling and plays Dungeons & Dragons? No, because those people don’t exist here! I didn’t have any friends in college and I don’t have any friends now! So unless you know somebody who shares the same shit that I do, then that’s how it’s going to stay for a long, long time!” shouted Pete, attracting the watching eyes of hairstylists and customers alike.
“So is that what it takes for somebody to be your friend? They have to like the same things you do? But that’s not what friendship is about! It’s about opening your mind to different things! You think all of my friends are into dance music and reality shows? No, they’re not! But they’re still my friends because I allow them to be! You need to open up every once and a while! Maybe if you told me more about your passions, I would have listened! But instead you kept giving me these lame answers!” screamed Natalie.
The shouting match was turned up to maximum volume when Pete stuck his chubby jowls into Natalie’s heart shaped face and yelled, “You want to know what I used to do for a living?! Huh?! I was a janitor!” Natalie shrugged her shoulders in a half-scared, half-confused manner. She was definitely backing off and quaking in her sandals after that outburst. Pete explained, “I was a janitor at a porn theater! I cleaned up stuff that would make everyone in this room barf all over the floor!” While he didn’t get barf, one customer gagged.
Pete breathed heavily in and out while Natalie’s eyes along with everyone else’s were wide in horror. He said in a lower and calmer voice, “Here’s the deal. I don’t know how to work a cash box and I don’t know how to cut hair. I majored in psychology when I was going to college, so that means I have even less skills. But if you’re so interested in teaching me about social skills, making friends, and having a good job, maybe YOU should hire me. I’m sure there’s something here I can do. Otherwise, I have no problem with living off weekly checks from my mom.”
Natalie sighed and held her forehead in her hand while contemplating everything Pete said. She breathed deeply in and out to stave off nervousness and then opened her eyes again to give Pete the verdict. “Here’s what I’m willing to do,” she said in a calm voice, much like Pete’s. “You said you were a janitor at…that place before you lost your job.” She tried not to say “porn theater” since those two words together made her shiver. “There’s a broom and a dustpan in the back closet. If you agree to sweep the floors tonight, I will take you to a fast food restaurant of your choice and…pay for your meal.”
Pete smiled for the first time since arriving and looked around at the hairy tiled floor. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said in his best Captain Obvious voice.
“It is,” said Natalie. “That means you’re getting a super-sized meal tonight. And if you do a good enough job, maybe this will turn into a full-time thing. And when it does, you and I are going to be opening up to each other a lot more. So what do you say? Does this sound good to you or not?”
Pete took a moment to consider the deal and nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Natalie. “If this ends up becoming an actual job, don’t tell people you sweep up hair for a living. You could just say, ‘I work at The Men’s Club’. I mean, when you worked at…that place before here…did you seriously tell people you were mopping up…you know…?”
“What?” Pete asked. “You mean dude nectar?”
Natalie screamed in disgust while covering her ears and saying, “La-la-la!” over and over again. The patrons and other hairstylists on the other hand were laughing their asses off. One of the male clients said, “He’s a keeper!”
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics of 2015
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTICS OF 2015***
With the internet as prominent as it is and with backstage politics as easily accessible as they are, wrestling has easily become the most criticized form of entertainment, even by its own fans. A lot of the negativity stems from certain fans not seeing their favorite wrestlers succeed (Cesaro) or seeing their most hated wrestlers get an elevator ride to the top (Kane). It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude among the spoiled fans, but I’ve managed to do so and enjoy wrestling for what it truly is: entertainment.
Yes, I know this journal is about a negative award given by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter every year. I talk about it often, but not because I’m a negative human being. These award winners and runner-ups are a huge source of creative fuel for me. Creative fuel is essential to the life of an author. That, and I love to shock the shit out of people from time to time. The 2015 WON awards have been revealed and in this particular category, there were seven different candidates (one winner, six runner-ups). I’m going to work my way from the top of the list (the winner) to the very bottom. Starting with…
***AWARD WINNER***
EVENT: WWE using Reid Flair’s death to promote a feud between Charlotte and Paige.
REASON: I’ve talked about this before in the past and I’ll only speak briefly about it in the present. Death is a sensitive subject and to approach it with such classlessness is going to bring a lot of people either to tears or a boiling point. It was the case in 2013 when Paul Bearer’s death was exploited and in 2006 when Eddie Guerrero’s was as well.
EXAMPLE: The Westboro Baptist Church are the worst offenders when it comes to insensitivity toward the dead. They hold up “God Hates Fags” signs at funerals, claiming that God is killing off these now-dead people because America’s approval of homosexuality. I could actually picture a Fred Phelps caricature being used on an episode of WWE Raw and then that manager getting a Worst Gimmick award.
***FIRST RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE botching the Divas Revolution.
REASON: Bringing up three badass female athletes to the main WWE roster seemed like a good idea on paper, but it doesn’t change the fact that WWE women’s matches are much different from NXT women’s matches. In NXT, the women are strong role models and bold risk takers, thus ensuring them five-star match accolades. In WWE, the women are sophomoric and have awkward choreography. In other words, nothing has changed on the main roster.
EXAMPLE: Let’s say for instance there’s a high fantasy story taking place and there’s a war going on between an army of orcs, an army of dwarves, and an army of elves. That’s a lot of goddamn warriors and that has potential for a lot of goddamn bloodshed. But let’s say the warriors get drunk and start fighting like middle schoolers. The best you could hope for at this point is a draw.
***SECOND RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: James Storm pushes Mickie James into an oncoming train.
REASON: I haven’t watched TNA since I gave up on them in late 2011. Having said that, we can all agree that it’s not very nice to push a defenseless woman into a moving train. Obviously, Mickie James didn’t die; it was a way to write her off television. But given the fact that trains are big fucking machines that move at a fierce goddamn velocity, the thought of Mickie James’ guts being spread all over the train station is just gross.
EXAMPLE: I used to watch episodes of Dudley Do-Right where the love interest of the main character would be tied onto railroad tracks while a steam train is blitzing her way. It’s a kid’s cartoon, so obviously the love interest was never splattered into a pile of blood and guts. But if you really think about it, that’s a screwed up way to kill somebody, especially a helpless woman whose only role on the show is to be saved by the masculine hero. That’s like something from Criminal Minds.
***THIRD RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE exploiting Connor “The Crusher” Michalek when giving him the Warrior Award.
REASON: TV shows get accused of exploiting their guests all the time. Dr. Phil does it on a regular basis when he brings rape victims onto his show. The Biggest Loser is basically one big fat joke that spans several seasons. And now you’ve got WWE super fan and childhood cancer victim Connor Michalek being paraded around to show what great guys the WWE are…months before they exploit the death of Reid Flair.
EXAMPLE: I think I’ve already covered the examples when I brought up Dr. Phil and The Biggest Loser. What I haven’t covered is that every October, WWE parades around breast cancer survivors as part of their alliance with Susan G. Komen. The WWE neglects to mention that Susan G. Komen was responsible for de-funding Planned Parenthood and that the CEO of SGK pockets most of the donations.
***FOURTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Lucha Underground televising matches where men beat up women.
REASON: With all of this talk in today’s world about “rape culture” and “a woman’s place”, haven’t these poor girls suffered enough without being assaulted by men on a weekly basis? I will admit that the WWE’s Stephanie McMahon is a pain in the ass and deserves a Worst Gimmick award in the most vile way. It doesn’t change the fact that if she was booked in a match to get a KO punch from The Big Show, the WWE would win this award and not the Lucha Underground. If you want Stephanie McMahon to get her ass kicked so badly, have Ronda Rousey do it; she won’t let you down. Plus, Ronda is all woman.
EXAMPLE: The movies North Country and Iron-Jawed Angels are perfect examples of male supremacy. You’ve got men sexually harassing and physically beating these women all because these females want the same societal status as their dick-swinging counterparts. I’ve seen North Country and it was the most disturbing movie I’ve ever watched. I haven’t seen Iron-Jawed Angels, nor do I want to since it’s basically the same male supremacy over and over again.
***FIFTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Michael Cole doing a broken neck storyline directly after Perro Aguayo, Jr. died from whiplash.
REASON: I’m sure this wasn’t intentional mockery of Perro Aguayo’s situation, but the timing couldn’t have been worse than if it was 2005 and the WWE did a terrorist storyline on the day of the London bombings. Timing is everything when it comes to sensitive subjects. Which leads me to my next example…
EXAMPLE: Back in 2011, Fox pulled episodes of Family Guy, The Cleveland Show, and American Dad off the air because they were all about stormy weather and a hurricane had just past through…I forget where. Imagine that backlash against Fox if they hadn’t pulled those episodes, as if Seth MacFarlane doesn’t catch enough shit already.
***FINAL RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE blackballing Hulk Hogan for his racist remarks in 2012 and then lionizing The Ultimate Warrior, who said just as bad or worse things in public.
REASON: Racism is racism no matter who it comes from. The only difference between Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior is that the latter is now dead and lionizing him would be the only way to honor his memory. Then again, if praising the dead was standard operating procedure, Chris Benoit would be a first ballot WWE Hall of Famer.
EXAMPLE: Racism is a touchy subject no matter which political or news channel you dial into. Donald Trump shoots his mouth off on a regular basis about Arabs, Mexicans, and black people, yet people cheer him on and encourage it. But whenever Al Sharpton talks about white privilege, suddenly the hammer gets brought down with a stiffness.
***CONCLUSION***
Creative fuel can come from anywhere. As far as the creative fuel from MDPT awards go, this is my way of not allowing tragedies to go to waste. Whenever authors write a story, there has to be a main problem and the protagonist has to go through hell in order to solve that problem. When drawing inspiration from these seven horrifying wrestling stories, think about that for a moment.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
As long as the WWE is putting together tag teams based on their initials, let’s go old school with the pairing of Sting and Ted DiBiase (Team STD). Don’t worry about them giving you cross-body blocks, because Team STD is easy to catch.
With the internet as prominent as it is and with backstage politics as easily accessible as they are, wrestling has easily become the most criticized form of entertainment, even by its own fans. A lot of the negativity stems from certain fans not seeing their favorite wrestlers succeed (Cesaro) or seeing their most hated wrestlers get an elevator ride to the top (Kane). It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude among the spoiled fans, but I’ve managed to do so and enjoy wrestling for what it truly is: entertainment.
Yes, I know this journal is about a negative award given by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter every year. I talk about it often, but not because I’m a negative human being. These award winners and runner-ups are a huge source of creative fuel for me. Creative fuel is essential to the life of an author. That, and I love to shock the shit out of people from time to time. The 2015 WON awards have been revealed and in this particular category, there were seven different candidates (one winner, six runner-ups). I’m going to work my way from the top of the list (the winner) to the very bottom. Starting with…
***AWARD WINNER***
EVENT: WWE using Reid Flair’s death to promote a feud between Charlotte and Paige.
REASON: I’ve talked about this before in the past and I’ll only speak briefly about it in the present. Death is a sensitive subject and to approach it with such classlessness is going to bring a lot of people either to tears or a boiling point. It was the case in 2013 when Paul Bearer’s death was exploited and in 2006 when Eddie Guerrero’s was as well.
EXAMPLE: The Westboro Baptist Church are the worst offenders when it comes to insensitivity toward the dead. They hold up “God Hates Fags” signs at funerals, claiming that God is killing off these now-dead people because America’s approval of homosexuality. I could actually picture a Fred Phelps caricature being used on an episode of WWE Raw and then that manager getting a Worst Gimmick award.
***FIRST RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE botching the Divas Revolution.
REASON: Bringing up three badass female athletes to the main WWE roster seemed like a good idea on paper, but it doesn’t change the fact that WWE women’s matches are much different from NXT women’s matches. In NXT, the women are strong role models and bold risk takers, thus ensuring them five-star match accolades. In WWE, the women are sophomoric and have awkward choreography. In other words, nothing has changed on the main roster.
EXAMPLE: Let’s say for instance there’s a high fantasy story taking place and there’s a war going on between an army of orcs, an army of dwarves, and an army of elves. That’s a lot of goddamn warriors and that has potential for a lot of goddamn bloodshed. But let’s say the warriors get drunk and start fighting like middle schoolers. The best you could hope for at this point is a draw.
***SECOND RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: James Storm pushes Mickie James into an oncoming train.
REASON: I haven’t watched TNA since I gave up on them in late 2011. Having said that, we can all agree that it’s not very nice to push a defenseless woman into a moving train. Obviously, Mickie James didn’t die; it was a way to write her off television. But given the fact that trains are big fucking machines that move at a fierce goddamn velocity, the thought of Mickie James’ guts being spread all over the train station is just gross.
EXAMPLE: I used to watch episodes of Dudley Do-Right where the love interest of the main character would be tied onto railroad tracks while a steam train is blitzing her way. It’s a kid’s cartoon, so obviously the love interest was never splattered into a pile of blood and guts. But if you really think about it, that’s a screwed up way to kill somebody, especially a helpless woman whose only role on the show is to be saved by the masculine hero. That’s like something from Criminal Minds.
***THIRD RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE exploiting Connor “The Crusher” Michalek when giving him the Warrior Award.
REASON: TV shows get accused of exploiting their guests all the time. Dr. Phil does it on a regular basis when he brings rape victims onto his show. The Biggest Loser is basically one big fat joke that spans several seasons. And now you’ve got WWE super fan and childhood cancer victim Connor Michalek being paraded around to show what great guys the WWE are…months before they exploit the death of Reid Flair.
EXAMPLE: I think I’ve already covered the examples when I brought up Dr. Phil and The Biggest Loser. What I haven’t covered is that every October, WWE parades around breast cancer survivors as part of their alliance with Susan G. Komen. The WWE neglects to mention that Susan G. Komen was responsible for de-funding Planned Parenthood and that the CEO of SGK pockets most of the donations.
***FOURTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Lucha Underground televising matches where men beat up women.
REASON: With all of this talk in today’s world about “rape culture” and “a woman’s place”, haven’t these poor girls suffered enough without being assaulted by men on a weekly basis? I will admit that the WWE’s Stephanie McMahon is a pain in the ass and deserves a Worst Gimmick award in the most vile way. It doesn’t change the fact that if she was booked in a match to get a KO punch from The Big Show, the WWE would win this award and not the Lucha Underground. If you want Stephanie McMahon to get her ass kicked so badly, have Ronda Rousey do it; she won’t let you down. Plus, Ronda is all woman.
EXAMPLE: The movies North Country and Iron-Jawed Angels are perfect examples of male supremacy. You’ve got men sexually harassing and physically beating these women all because these females want the same societal status as their dick-swinging counterparts. I’ve seen North Country and it was the most disturbing movie I’ve ever watched. I haven’t seen Iron-Jawed Angels, nor do I want to since it’s basically the same male supremacy over and over again.
***FIFTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Michael Cole doing a broken neck storyline directly after Perro Aguayo, Jr. died from whiplash.
REASON: I’m sure this wasn’t intentional mockery of Perro Aguayo’s situation, but the timing couldn’t have been worse than if it was 2005 and the WWE did a terrorist storyline on the day of the London bombings. Timing is everything when it comes to sensitive subjects. Which leads me to my next example…
EXAMPLE: Back in 2011, Fox pulled episodes of Family Guy, The Cleveland Show, and American Dad off the air because they were all about stormy weather and a hurricane had just past through…I forget where. Imagine that backlash against Fox if they hadn’t pulled those episodes, as if Seth MacFarlane doesn’t catch enough shit already.
***FINAL RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE blackballing Hulk Hogan for his racist remarks in 2012 and then lionizing The Ultimate Warrior, who said just as bad or worse things in public.
REASON: Racism is racism no matter who it comes from. The only difference between Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior is that the latter is now dead and lionizing him would be the only way to honor his memory. Then again, if praising the dead was standard operating procedure, Chris Benoit would be a first ballot WWE Hall of Famer.
EXAMPLE: Racism is a touchy subject no matter which political or news channel you dial into. Donald Trump shoots his mouth off on a regular basis about Arabs, Mexicans, and black people, yet people cheer him on and encourage it. But whenever Al Sharpton talks about white privilege, suddenly the hammer gets brought down with a stiffness.
***CONCLUSION***
Creative fuel can come from anywhere. As far as the creative fuel from MDPT awards go, this is my way of not allowing tragedies to go to waste. Whenever authors write a story, there has to be a main problem and the protagonist has to go through hell in order to solve that problem. When drawing inspiration from these seven horrifying wrestling stories, think about that for a moment.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
As long as the WWE is putting together tag teams based on their initials, let’s go old school with the pairing of Sting and Ted DiBiase (Team STD). Don’t worry about them giving you cross-body blocks, because Team STD is easy to catch.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Nike Nut Sack
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 1
Every man has his price and yours was pretty low
But you’re watching that cash exponentially grow
The puppet strings are wrapped around your throat
And it’s all in the name of an all-American C-note
You repeat what they say like they’re your opinions
When really you’re just another one of their minions
They own everything of yours, including your life
To sweeten this deal, they’re going to need your wife
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 2
Did you ever think to ask the million dollar question?
How many of these sins are funding federal elections?
How many of these kids worked themselves to death?
How many corporate executives will benefit in the end?
To ask these questions, you need a mind of your own
But you were too busy taking selfies with your phone
The hash tags are flying across the worldwide web
While the world’s pain is flying right over your head
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
HOOK
Your friends got pissed off and they walked away
Your family wondered why you’d ever go astray
Your heart is broken, but don’t mind the noise
Because your palms are greased by the big boys
EXTENDED CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
Play basketball even though you’re not an athlete
Ride in limousines with party chicks named Ashley
Drink all the champagne and snort all the cocaine
When you’re all fucked up, you’re the one to blame
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 1
Every man has his price and yours was pretty low
But you’re watching that cash exponentially grow
The puppet strings are wrapped around your throat
And it’s all in the name of an all-American C-note
You repeat what they say like they’re your opinions
When really you’re just another one of their minions
They own everything of yours, including your life
To sweeten this deal, they’re going to need your wife
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 2
Did you ever think to ask the million dollar question?
How many of these sins are funding federal elections?
How many of these kids worked themselves to death?
How many corporate executives will benefit in the end?
To ask these questions, you need a mind of your own
But you were too busy taking selfies with your phone
The hash tags are flying across the worldwide web
While the world’s pain is flying right over your head
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
HOOK
Your friends got pissed off and they walked away
Your family wondered why you’d ever go astray
Your heart is broken, but don’t mind the noise
Because your palms are greased by the big boys
EXTENDED CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
Play basketball even though you’re not an athlete
Ride in limousines with party chicks named Ashley
Drink all the champagne and snort all the cocaine
When you’re all fucked up, you’re the one to blame
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Adapting to Change
***ADAPTING TO CHANGE***
We live in an era where everything we do has the potential for artistic merit. In the past, I’ve covered topics like reusing abandoned buildings, home improvement, and building Magic: the Gathering decks, all of which qualify as being creative projects if done in an innovative way. I’d like to add something else to this list, an underrated form of creativity that often gets taken for granted: adapting to change. As long as we live our lives, life will give us all the change we need. Whether it’s good change or bad change, the only way we can seek to improve ourselves is by rising from the ashes every time.
Writers have to adapt to change on a regular basis, especially if they’re working one-on-one with an editor. An editor’s job is simple: read an author’s manuscript and point out what things worked, what things didn’t, and what could be done to improve the things that didn’t. It is not an editor’s job, however, to make these changes for you. Yes, you have a better idea of what to change, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide how you will change those things. Even if an editor gives you a solution at your request, you, the author, are ultimately the one who says “yes” or “no” to that decision. When a writer has successfully adapted to the changes his manuscript is presented with, he will have a stronger product. He may have to edit several more times after that, but every time the literature will become stronger.
Episodic television shows have to adapt to change all the time. A screenwriter can produce weeks, months, or even seasons of television far in advance. But if an actor leaves the show, budgets become constrained, or the ratings aren’t high enough, adapting to change becomes more important than ever and all of that advance television has to be rewritten and reedited to accommodate those changes.
The original version of NCIS (Washington DC) has gone through several lineup changes during its current thirteen year run. In 2005, Sasha Alexander (Special Agent Caitlin Todd) left the show for unknown reasons, so her character was sniped by an Israeli terrorist named Ari. Ever since then, the audience was treated to Ziva David, a socially awkward, yet badass Probationary Agent. In 2013, Cote de Pablo (Ziva’s actor) left the show also for unknown reasons, so her character went back to Israel due to crippling guilt. She was replaced by socially awkward NSA analyst turned NCIS Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Don’t worry, because Emily Wickersham (Ellie’s actor) isn’t going anywhere for the time being. Michael Weatherly (Tony DiNozzo) on the other hand is leaving at the end of this current season. So many changes, so little time.
The WWE has to adapt to changes all the time, so that will keep the creative writers busy for a long, long time. In 2015, there were a shit ton of injuries that prevented certain wrestlers from competing. Seth Rollins tweaked his knee and had to give up the WWE World Heavyweight Championship, which is currently being held by his former Shield mate Roman Reigns. Daniel Bryan suffered a concussion and had to give up the Intercontinental Championship, which was won by Ryback in an Elimination Chamber match, won by Kevin Owens at Night of Champions, and won by Dean Ambrose at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. Then Tyson Kidd, Cesaro, John Cena, and Sting started getting injured. The Divas division wasn’t safe either since Paige had concussion issues, Sasha Banks injured her knee, Nikki Bella snapped her neck, and Rosa Mendes became a mother for the first time in her life. Choosing wrestlers to take these injured workers’ places is a critical decision that must be made on the fly. Entire storylines have to be rewritten all over again to accommodate these new wrestlers.
Just like with every journal, I’m going to use my own life as an example as well. My life is for the most part pretty routine, humble, and satisfying. Major changes in my life are rare, but when they do happen, they usually come in the form of a schizophrenic attack. Offensive images and sounds will invade my mind to where I “flinch” away from them to minimize the pain. But as I flinch from them, I’m also flinching from other aspects of my life that I derive pleasure from, the most important one being heavy metal music. How do I adapt to a schizophrenic attack? Listening to more new age music is my most common method. I’ve written a shit ton of heavy metal song lyrics during schizophrenic episodes and they were well received by the public. But just recently, I’ve had to learn how to confront my schizophrenic demons. I had to play the images and sounds in my head so many times without flinching until the fear of them is conquered and dead. I’m no longer afraid of my own mental demons because I looked them in the eye and said, “Fuck you, I’m not moving!” The gatekeepers to my happiness have gone home…but for how long?
Change can come in many forms: a new city to live in, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a physical injury, and many others that are easy to relate to. Learning how to live a normal life in the face of these changes is what will make you strong enough to never regret those changes happening. Change is inevitable, but strength is forever. No amount of change will make life impossibly hard to live. You simply learn to work around those issues and face the next challenge with a warrior’s spirit. Any piece of art can be created from the remains of destruction. The main character from Pink Floyd the Wall smashed up his hotel room and turned the broken furniture into a collage. It’s an insane way to think about it, but then again, insanity and creativity have strong ties to each other. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The next warrior to be drawn will be a villainess named Domino Gunn. If you’ve been following my art career in 2007, you would have seen her in a movie script called World of Darkness, where she was a lingerie-wearing dark paladin whose weapon of choice was a ball in chain. In today’s world, she’s a villainess in the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Stone Cold”. She tries to seduce the vengeful barbarian Brutus Warpath, but gets her throat ripped out instead. A lovely fate for a lovely lady.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: You know what the real tragedy of all of this is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!
RANDAL: Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck like I’m the source of all your fucking misery! Who closed the store to play hockey?! Who closed the store to go to a funeral?! Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one?! You want to blame somebody for all of this?! Blame yourself! “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here! You came here on your own volition! You like to think the weight of the world is on your shoulders like, “This place would fall apart if Dante wasn’t here!” You overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job! You push fucking buttons! Anybody can waltz in here and do what we do! You make it sound so much more epic, so much more important than it really is! Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well! You know, that guy Jay has it right! He has no illusions about what he does for a living! Us, we like to think we’re so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a newspaper or, God forbid, cigarettes! We look down on those people like we’re so advanced! Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, why are we working here?!
-Clerks-
We live in an era where everything we do has the potential for artistic merit. In the past, I’ve covered topics like reusing abandoned buildings, home improvement, and building Magic: the Gathering decks, all of which qualify as being creative projects if done in an innovative way. I’d like to add something else to this list, an underrated form of creativity that often gets taken for granted: adapting to change. As long as we live our lives, life will give us all the change we need. Whether it’s good change or bad change, the only way we can seek to improve ourselves is by rising from the ashes every time.
Writers have to adapt to change on a regular basis, especially if they’re working one-on-one with an editor. An editor’s job is simple: read an author’s manuscript and point out what things worked, what things didn’t, and what could be done to improve the things that didn’t. It is not an editor’s job, however, to make these changes for you. Yes, you have a better idea of what to change, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide how you will change those things. Even if an editor gives you a solution at your request, you, the author, are ultimately the one who says “yes” or “no” to that decision. When a writer has successfully adapted to the changes his manuscript is presented with, he will have a stronger product. He may have to edit several more times after that, but every time the literature will become stronger.
Episodic television shows have to adapt to change all the time. A screenwriter can produce weeks, months, or even seasons of television far in advance. But if an actor leaves the show, budgets become constrained, or the ratings aren’t high enough, adapting to change becomes more important than ever and all of that advance television has to be rewritten and reedited to accommodate those changes.
The original version of NCIS (Washington DC) has gone through several lineup changes during its current thirteen year run. In 2005, Sasha Alexander (Special Agent Caitlin Todd) left the show for unknown reasons, so her character was sniped by an Israeli terrorist named Ari. Ever since then, the audience was treated to Ziva David, a socially awkward, yet badass Probationary Agent. In 2013, Cote de Pablo (Ziva’s actor) left the show also for unknown reasons, so her character went back to Israel due to crippling guilt. She was replaced by socially awkward NSA analyst turned NCIS Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Don’t worry, because Emily Wickersham (Ellie’s actor) isn’t going anywhere for the time being. Michael Weatherly (Tony DiNozzo) on the other hand is leaving at the end of this current season. So many changes, so little time.
The WWE has to adapt to changes all the time, so that will keep the creative writers busy for a long, long time. In 2015, there were a shit ton of injuries that prevented certain wrestlers from competing. Seth Rollins tweaked his knee and had to give up the WWE World Heavyweight Championship, which is currently being held by his former Shield mate Roman Reigns. Daniel Bryan suffered a concussion and had to give up the Intercontinental Championship, which was won by Ryback in an Elimination Chamber match, won by Kevin Owens at Night of Champions, and won by Dean Ambrose at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. Then Tyson Kidd, Cesaro, John Cena, and Sting started getting injured. The Divas division wasn’t safe either since Paige had concussion issues, Sasha Banks injured her knee, Nikki Bella snapped her neck, and Rosa Mendes became a mother for the first time in her life. Choosing wrestlers to take these injured workers’ places is a critical decision that must be made on the fly. Entire storylines have to be rewritten all over again to accommodate these new wrestlers.
Just like with every journal, I’m going to use my own life as an example as well. My life is for the most part pretty routine, humble, and satisfying. Major changes in my life are rare, but when they do happen, they usually come in the form of a schizophrenic attack. Offensive images and sounds will invade my mind to where I “flinch” away from them to minimize the pain. But as I flinch from them, I’m also flinching from other aspects of my life that I derive pleasure from, the most important one being heavy metal music. How do I adapt to a schizophrenic attack? Listening to more new age music is my most common method. I’ve written a shit ton of heavy metal song lyrics during schizophrenic episodes and they were well received by the public. But just recently, I’ve had to learn how to confront my schizophrenic demons. I had to play the images and sounds in my head so many times without flinching until the fear of them is conquered and dead. I’m no longer afraid of my own mental demons because I looked them in the eye and said, “Fuck you, I’m not moving!” The gatekeepers to my happiness have gone home…but for how long?
Change can come in many forms: a new city to live in, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a physical injury, and many others that are easy to relate to. Learning how to live a normal life in the face of these changes is what will make you strong enough to never regret those changes happening. Change is inevitable, but strength is forever. No amount of change will make life impossibly hard to live. You simply learn to work around those issues and face the next challenge with a warrior’s spirit. Any piece of art can be created from the remains of destruction. The main character from Pink Floyd the Wall smashed up his hotel room and turned the broken furniture into a collage. It’s an insane way to think about it, but then again, insanity and creativity have strong ties to each other. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The next warrior to be drawn will be a villainess named Domino Gunn. If you’ve been following my art career in 2007, you would have seen her in a movie script called World of Darkness, where she was a lingerie-wearing dark paladin whose weapon of choice was a ball in chain. In today’s world, she’s a villainess in the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Stone Cold”. She tries to seduce the vengeful barbarian Brutus Warpath, but gets her throat ripped out instead. A lovely fate for a lovely lady.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: You know what the real tragedy of all of this is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!
RANDAL: Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck like I’m the source of all your fucking misery! Who closed the store to play hockey?! Who closed the store to go to a funeral?! Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one?! You want to blame somebody for all of this?! Blame yourself! “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here! You came here on your own volition! You like to think the weight of the world is on your shoulders like, “This place would fall apart if Dante wasn’t here!” You overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job! You push fucking buttons! Anybody can waltz in here and do what we do! You make it sound so much more epic, so much more important than it really is! Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well! You know, that guy Jay has it right! He has no illusions about what he does for a living! Us, we like to think we’re so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a newspaper or, God forbid, cigarettes! We look down on those people like we’re so advanced! Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, why are we working here?!
-Clerks-
Kill Me or I'll Quit
What a waste of fucking time, said Norman Long in his head. He sat on one of the fluffy couches of the Lion Pie Hotel with his back hunched over and his head hung low. Every once and a while, he would ball up his fist and pound the couch cushion he was sitting on. Anyone who was around him and saw the act of frustration walked a little faster toward wherever they were going, even going so far as to shield their children.
Norman Long had the look of a brooding high school nerd even though he was much older. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt. His beard was out of control as well. His glasses had a hard time staying on the bridge of his nose while he held his head in that position. The black leather jacket, blue jeans, and white Star Wars T-shirt gave off a gothic geek combination to anyone who actually had the stones to judge him at that moment.
“Kill me or I’ll quit!” In the finals of the Magic: the Gathering card game tournament, those were the simple instructions Norman gave to his opponent, Larry Bryce, a middle aged man with a gray and brown ponytail and beard, glasses of his own, and a black Pink Floyd T-shirt with gray jeans and sandals. Peace, love, and understanding was the motto Larry portrayed with his hippie ensemble. In fact, the final match was so peaceful that Norman actually considered falling asleep to show his boredom.
Larry could have finished off this overly drawn out game of Magic: the Gathering anytime he wanted. He had an army of creatures in play and they were much bigger and stronger than Norman’s piddly ass Llanawar Elves. Just one big ass stampede of ogres, orcs, and berserkers and the battlefield would have been covered in elf juice and Norman’s tears. But instead, Larry decided to stall for as long as he could just so he could flaunt his arrogant might. He didn’t kill Norman off in that game. Norman packed up his cards and forfeited the game, leaving the older player with a big fat five thousand dollar check.
Had this been a friendly game, Larry’s sins would have been forgivable in Norman’s eyes. But it was five thousand dollars, which would have been enough to cover his travel and hotel expenses while still having enough to pay his apartment bills back home and get something extra for fun. He could have bought World of Warcraft action figures. A new laptop. An MP3 player with thirty gigabytes of memory. But instead, Norman sat in the hotel lobby with pieces of his broken heart in his hands and a possible eviction notice on the way.
Just when he was ready to burst into a waterfall of tears, he felt a feeble hand pat him gently on the shoulder while the person said, “Good game!” That voice belonged to Larry Bryce, who walked past him only to stop at Norman asking him in an aggressive tone what he said. The defeated MTG player stood up and scowled at Larry with vicious eyebrows and dewy eyeballs.
“Come on, man, it’s just a game. You’re pissed off about a game of Magic?” said Larry.
“Don’t bullshit me, Larry!” grunted Norman, catching the attention of clerks and patrons around him. “You could have ended that game anytime you wanted! Instead you chose the cheap way to win by boring me to tears! Magic games are supposed to be fast-paced and fun! That’s the whole reason I started playing in the first place! Well, guess what, Larry! I’ve played against arrogant nut sacks like you before! And if there are more people like you out there…” Norman pulled his deck of Magic cards out of his jacket pocket and said, “I don’t need this anymore! I quit!” With a basketball like hand motion, he threw his deck into a nearby garbage can.
Larry shook his head no and pulled the deck out of the garbage can. “You know, buddy, if you’re not going to play anymore, then don’t waste a perfectly good deck of cards. There are lots of players in this hotel who would love to have something like this.”
“And once again, you’re so full of shit that you’re bursting at the fucking seams!” shouted Norman with more vigor than before. He speed-walked up to Larry and pulled the deck of cards out of his hands before ripping them into pieces. He then threw the pieces of confetti into Larry’s face and watched him shake his head no yet again.
“Do you have any idea how expensive Magic: the Gathering cards can be? That’s easily hundreds of dollars down the drain, buddy. Look, if you want to have a conniption over a game of Magic, that’s fine with me, but don’t take your anger out on those expensive cards. You wouldn’t rip up the Mona Lisa in a fit of rage, would you?”
Norman smiled psychotically and shook his head before grabbing Larry by his Pink Floyd T-shirt and grunting through gritted teeth, “No, asshole! I’ll rip you up instead!” From there, shoves and punches were thrown between the two Magic players. Several bystanders, including hotel staff, tried to break them up, but they too were met with strikes and shoves. There was even one instance where Norman and Larry both dove over the couch together.
***
In hindsight, fist fighting over a game of Magic (even though five thousand dollars were on the line) was dumber than eating a pepperoni pizza in Israel. In the Paulson City Police Department holding cell, Larry and Norman sat across from each other with hunched over spines and wicked facial expressions. They were the only ones that night who had to cause trouble, thus they were alone together. They could have ripped each other apart that night if it wasn’t for the guard standing at the entrance.
They didn’t speak to each other for a whole half hour before Larry broke the silence with, “Just so you know, you’re going to be serving this jail sentence alone, buddy. I’ve five thousand dollars richer, which means I can post bail. What have you got to show for your rage, huh? You could have sold those Magic cards to a lucky kid and have your bail posted as well. Instead you chose to…”
“Can it, Larry!” interrupted Norman. The tension between the two troublemakers would have had the hotel patrons and staff quaking in their shoes if they were still at the Lion Pie. “You think you’ve got me figured out? You think you know what the hell is going on here? That deck wouldn’t have done anybody good anyways! It lost to yours, right? It didn’t make me five thousand dollars richer, did it?”
“That’s all you care about?” asked Larry when he stood up. “You play Magic: the Gathering for money? It would be a cool professional gig, but that’s not something that would look good on a resume. You know what looks good on a resume? Being a tech support guy for five long years and providing for a wife and two children. That’s what I’m doing with my life. Playing Magic is just for fun. Did you already forget how to have fun?”
“Sure!” yelled Norman as he stood up and put his face in Larry’s. “I’ll have all the fun in the world when I get my ass evicted! I was depending on that five thousand dollars to keep my apartment! Not only am I now going to be homeless, but I have this mental image of you rubbing it in my face during the tournament finals! So from now on, every time I beg someone on the street corner for money, I’m going to see your smiling jackass face handing me a bottle cap or a rusty wing nut!”
“First of all, dingus!” screamed Larry. “You don’t have to worry about being homeless, because you’re going to jail for assault! Second of all, if you were so dependent on rent money that you’d take a chance with a Magic: the Gathering tournament, you might be taken to a nut house instead of jail, because that’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of! Only one person could have won that tournament! One person out of God knows how many! Somebody had to win and that someone was me! I’ve got news for you, buddy-boy! There’s always somebody out there who’s going to be better than you! The only reason why I won was because I had the luck of the draw when others didn’t!”
Larry shook his head, chuckled in frustration, and sat back down on the bench. “You took a chance and your chance didn’t pay off. Then again, you shouldn’t expect it to. Magic: the Gathering is based on fairytales. Real life is not, my friend.”
Those harsh, but true words hit Norman like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to the gut. His eyes were sore, his heart was broken yet again, and all he could do was sit on his side of the holding cell and wait for dawn to come. Larry was an arrogant Magic player, but he was right on all levels. This was the fuel Norman would take with him to the dream world that night. He curled up on the bench and hugged himself for warmth. He didn’t want to look at Larry anymore because of what other harsh truths he had in store. No more hammers brought down on Norman. Just sleep. Just a long, dreamless, haunted sleep.
***
The sunshine-filled morning descended upon the police station. No amount of burning light could wake Norman up from his empty slumber. A knight stick rapping the cell door repeatedly, however, was just obnoxious enough to bring Norman Long back into reality. The stiff and sore sleepyhead slowly sat upright in his bench as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. He looked around and thought he was still exhausted when he saw that the cell door was open. It was the furthest thing from a dream, however. “Mr. Norman James Long? You’re free to go.”
Norman formed a confused look on his face before the prison guard said, “What are you waiting for? I said you’re free to go!” The dejected Magic player stood up and trudged out of the holding cell. He was guided to the front desk to collect his personal belongings in a manila envelope. He opened the envelope once he got outside the station and sat down on the concrete stairs to inspect everything.
Glasses? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Cell phone? Hell yeah. An ass load of cash? Check. Wait a minute. An ass load of cash? With a note attached to it? What the hell was going on here. Norman unfolded the piece of paper and read it with much clearer eyes than when he exited the station.
“Dear Norman: I have to admit that I acted like an ass back at the Lion Pie Hotel. I’m sorry about that. There’s no excuse for drawing the game out that long and I could tell you were pissed off about it. I posted bail for you and there should be enough cash in this envelope to pay off your rent for the month. If you unwrap the wad of cash, you’ll see something else in there that will bring your hopes up. I’m bailing you out on one condition: you’re getting back into Magic and you and I are going to play more often until you’re good enough to enjoy yourself. Never give up. Never. Yours truly, Larry Bryce.”
Norman pulled the rubber band off of the wad of cash and saw a deck of Magic: the Gathering cards underneath. He looked through them and saw the same hulking ogres and dragons Larry used to defeat him. A tear escaped Norman’s eye and gently splashed the manila envelope. “Thank you, Larry,” he said softly to himself.
Norman Long had the look of a brooding high school nerd even though he was much older. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt. His beard was out of control as well. His glasses had a hard time staying on the bridge of his nose while he held his head in that position. The black leather jacket, blue jeans, and white Star Wars T-shirt gave off a gothic geek combination to anyone who actually had the stones to judge him at that moment.
“Kill me or I’ll quit!” In the finals of the Magic: the Gathering card game tournament, those were the simple instructions Norman gave to his opponent, Larry Bryce, a middle aged man with a gray and brown ponytail and beard, glasses of his own, and a black Pink Floyd T-shirt with gray jeans and sandals. Peace, love, and understanding was the motto Larry portrayed with his hippie ensemble. In fact, the final match was so peaceful that Norman actually considered falling asleep to show his boredom.
Larry could have finished off this overly drawn out game of Magic: the Gathering anytime he wanted. He had an army of creatures in play and they were much bigger and stronger than Norman’s piddly ass Llanawar Elves. Just one big ass stampede of ogres, orcs, and berserkers and the battlefield would have been covered in elf juice and Norman’s tears. But instead, Larry decided to stall for as long as he could just so he could flaunt his arrogant might. He didn’t kill Norman off in that game. Norman packed up his cards and forfeited the game, leaving the older player with a big fat five thousand dollar check.
Had this been a friendly game, Larry’s sins would have been forgivable in Norman’s eyes. But it was five thousand dollars, which would have been enough to cover his travel and hotel expenses while still having enough to pay his apartment bills back home and get something extra for fun. He could have bought World of Warcraft action figures. A new laptop. An MP3 player with thirty gigabytes of memory. But instead, Norman sat in the hotel lobby with pieces of his broken heart in his hands and a possible eviction notice on the way.
Just when he was ready to burst into a waterfall of tears, he felt a feeble hand pat him gently on the shoulder while the person said, “Good game!” That voice belonged to Larry Bryce, who walked past him only to stop at Norman asking him in an aggressive tone what he said. The defeated MTG player stood up and scowled at Larry with vicious eyebrows and dewy eyeballs.
“Come on, man, it’s just a game. You’re pissed off about a game of Magic?” said Larry.
“Don’t bullshit me, Larry!” grunted Norman, catching the attention of clerks and patrons around him. “You could have ended that game anytime you wanted! Instead you chose the cheap way to win by boring me to tears! Magic games are supposed to be fast-paced and fun! That’s the whole reason I started playing in the first place! Well, guess what, Larry! I’ve played against arrogant nut sacks like you before! And if there are more people like you out there…” Norman pulled his deck of Magic cards out of his jacket pocket and said, “I don’t need this anymore! I quit!” With a basketball like hand motion, he threw his deck into a nearby garbage can.
Larry shook his head no and pulled the deck out of the garbage can. “You know, buddy, if you’re not going to play anymore, then don’t waste a perfectly good deck of cards. There are lots of players in this hotel who would love to have something like this.”
“And once again, you’re so full of shit that you’re bursting at the fucking seams!” shouted Norman with more vigor than before. He speed-walked up to Larry and pulled the deck of cards out of his hands before ripping them into pieces. He then threw the pieces of confetti into Larry’s face and watched him shake his head no yet again.
“Do you have any idea how expensive Magic: the Gathering cards can be? That’s easily hundreds of dollars down the drain, buddy. Look, if you want to have a conniption over a game of Magic, that’s fine with me, but don’t take your anger out on those expensive cards. You wouldn’t rip up the Mona Lisa in a fit of rage, would you?”
Norman smiled psychotically and shook his head before grabbing Larry by his Pink Floyd T-shirt and grunting through gritted teeth, “No, asshole! I’ll rip you up instead!” From there, shoves and punches were thrown between the two Magic players. Several bystanders, including hotel staff, tried to break them up, but they too were met with strikes and shoves. There was even one instance where Norman and Larry both dove over the couch together.
***
In hindsight, fist fighting over a game of Magic (even though five thousand dollars were on the line) was dumber than eating a pepperoni pizza in Israel. In the Paulson City Police Department holding cell, Larry and Norman sat across from each other with hunched over spines and wicked facial expressions. They were the only ones that night who had to cause trouble, thus they were alone together. They could have ripped each other apart that night if it wasn’t for the guard standing at the entrance.
They didn’t speak to each other for a whole half hour before Larry broke the silence with, “Just so you know, you’re going to be serving this jail sentence alone, buddy. I’ve five thousand dollars richer, which means I can post bail. What have you got to show for your rage, huh? You could have sold those Magic cards to a lucky kid and have your bail posted as well. Instead you chose to…”
“Can it, Larry!” interrupted Norman. The tension between the two troublemakers would have had the hotel patrons and staff quaking in their shoes if they were still at the Lion Pie. “You think you’ve got me figured out? You think you know what the hell is going on here? That deck wouldn’t have done anybody good anyways! It lost to yours, right? It didn’t make me five thousand dollars richer, did it?”
“That’s all you care about?” asked Larry when he stood up. “You play Magic: the Gathering for money? It would be a cool professional gig, but that’s not something that would look good on a resume. You know what looks good on a resume? Being a tech support guy for five long years and providing for a wife and two children. That’s what I’m doing with my life. Playing Magic is just for fun. Did you already forget how to have fun?”
“Sure!” yelled Norman as he stood up and put his face in Larry’s. “I’ll have all the fun in the world when I get my ass evicted! I was depending on that five thousand dollars to keep my apartment! Not only am I now going to be homeless, but I have this mental image of you rubbing it in my face during the tournament finals! So from now on, every time I beg someone on the street corner for money, I’m going to see your smiling jackass face handing me a bottle cap or a rusty wing nut!”
“First of all, dingus!” screamed Larry. “You don’t have to worry about being homeless, because you’re going to jail for assault! Second of all, if you were so dependent on rent money that you’d take a chance with a Magic: the Gathering tournament, you might be taken to a nut house instead of jail, because that’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of! Only one person could have won that tournament! One person out of God knows how many! Somebody had to win and that someone was me! I’ve got news for you, buddy-boy! There’s always somebody out there who’s going to be better than you! The only reason why I won was because I had the luck of the draw when others didn’t!”
Larry shook his head, chuckled in frustration, and sat back down on the bench. “You took a chance and your chance didn’t pay off. Then again, you shouldn’t expect it to. Magic: the Gathering is based on fairytales. Real life is not, my friend.”
Those harsh, but true words hit Norman like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to the gut. His eyes were sore, his heart was broken yet again, and all he could do was sit on his side of the holding cell and wait for dawn to come. Larry was an arrogant Magic player, but he was right on all levels. This was the fuel Norman would take with him to the dream world that night. He curled up on the bench and hugged himself for warmth. He didn’t want to look at Larry anymore because of what other harsh truths he had in store. No more hammers brought down on Norman. Just sleep. Just a long, dreamless, haunted sleep.
***
The sunshine-filled morning descended upon the police station. No amount of burning light could wake Norman up from his empty slumber. A knight stick rapping the cell door repeatedly, however, was just obnoxious enough to bring Norman Long back into reality. The stiff and sore sleepyhead slowly sat upright in his bench as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. He looked around and thought he was still exhausted when he saw that the cell door was open. It was the furthest thing from a dream, however. “Mr. Norman James Long? You’re free to go.”
Norman formed a confused look on his face before the prison guard said, “What are you waiting for? I said you’re free to go!” The dejected Magic player stood up and trudged out of the holding cell. He was guided to the front desk to collect his personal belongings in a manila envelope. He opened the envelope once he got outside the station and sat down on the concrete stairs to inspect everything.
Glasses? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Cell phone? Hell yeah. An ass load of cash? Check. Wait a minute. An ass load of cash? With a note attached to it? What the hell was going on here. Norman unfolded the piece of paper and read it with much clearer eyes than when he exited the station.
“Dear Norman: I have to admit that I acted like an ass back at the Lion Pie Hotel. I’m sorry about that. There’s no excuse for drawing the game out that long and I could tell you were pissed off about it. I posted bail for you and there should be enough cash in this envelope to pay off your rent for the month. If you unwrap the wad of cash, you’ll see something else in there that will bring your hopes up. I’m bailing you out on one condition: you’re getting back into Magic and you and I are going to play more often until you’re good enough to enjoy yourself. Never give up. Never. Yours truly, Larry Bryce.”
Norman pulled the rubber band off of the wad of cash and saw a deck of Magic: the Gathering cards underneath. He looked through them and saw the same hulking ogres and dragons Larry used to defeat him. A tear escaped Norman’s eye and gently splashed the manila envelope. “Thank you, Larry,” he said softly to himself.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Gatekeeper
CHORUS 1
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who is wearing the crown!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Your empire of bloodlust will crumble down!
VERSE 1
On my road to recovery, I find a brick wall
So I pick up a war hammer and smash it all
Destroyed to powder and grains of sand
I’m one step closer to the promised land
CHORUS 2
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who’s polluting the sound!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
My lungs of steel will never let me drown!
VERSE 2
My road to redemption is covered with monsters
So I pick up an axe and lead them to the slaughter
Blood, bones, and pieces of shredded skin
The fucking war of the century is mine to win
CHORUS 3
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who holds the golden key!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Here‘s what happens when you fuck with me!
HOOK
A punch to the face, blood all over the place
A knee to the gut, knock you on your butt
A blade to your throat, your last ounce of hope
Is dangling by a thread of the hangman’s rope
VERSE 3
My road to victory is paved in teardrops
Yet I see no red sign that tells me to stop
Life is an endless road of dried up scars
Death is now forever written in the stars
CHORUS 4
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who points the gun at me!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
I know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to see!
You’re just another obstacle in my fucking way!
A brand new challenge and a brand new day!
I conquer that shit with barbaric dragon’s fire!
Keep them all coming, because I’ll never tire!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who is wearing the crown!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Your empire of bloodlust will crumble down!
VERSE 1
On my road to recovery, I find a brick wall
So I pick up a war hammer and smash it all
Destroyed to powder and grains of sand
I’m one step closer to the promised land
CHORUS 2
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who’s polluting the sound!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
My lungs of steel will never let me drown!
VERSE 2
My road to redemption is covered with monsters
So I pick up an axe and lead them to the slaughter
Blood, bones, and pieces of shredded skin
The fucking war of the century is mine to win
CHORUS 3
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who holds the golden key!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Here‘s what happens when you fuck with me!
HOOK
A punch to the face, blood all over the place
A knee to the gut, knock you on your butt
A blade to your throat, your last ounce of hope
Is dangling by a thread of the hangman’s rope
VERSE 3
My road to victory is paved in teardrops
Yet I see no red sign that tells me to stop
Life is an endless road of dried up scars
Death is now forever written in the stars
CHORUS 4
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who points the gun at me!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
I know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to see!
You’re just another obstacle in my fucking way!
A brand new challenge and a brand new day!
I conquer that shit with barbaric dragon’s fire!
Keep them all coming, because I’ll never tire!
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