Showing posts with label Arrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arrest. Show all posts

Thursday, May 30, 2024

Make a Wish on a Star

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

VERSE 1

If wishes were fishes, the world would be an ocean

Masturbatory fantasies, the river’s made of lotion

Problems don’t just go away because of magic spells

Not one person in this life can save the world by themself

There’s strength in numbers, especially in bank accounts

Abusing all the power for an even larger amount

No one has the energy and no one has the solution

We’re stuck in our depression and worldwide pollution

 

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

VERSE 2

We march until our shoes are worn and torn to shreds

And then we wake up in a metal prison bed

Or a hospital with one hand cuffed to the rail

It was like this all along, we were set up to fail

 

CHORUS

Make a wish on a star

For an unbreakable heart

For an indominable soul

An irreplaceable role

Make a wish on a star

Leave things better than they are

Smash the Status Quo

Until utopia’s all we know

 

BRIDGE

The only star worth wishing on is one that will crash

On corporate buildings, capitols, smash them into trash

Yachts and private jets, no, we’re not done just yet

From the river to the sea is a promise, not a threat

 

OUTRO

Make a wish on a star!

Make a wish on a star!

Make a wish on a star!

Let’s take shit too far!

Sunday, July 3, 2022

Capsize Your Narrative

Generational narcissism is your only narrative

Got a past, present, and future of embarrassment

You could break the cycle, but that ain’t fun

So you plant your flagpole like an army of one

Scream your head off and then play the victim

Tears in your eyes when you’re asked to listen

Mucous in your nose when you’re held accountable

Not by yourself, because those odds are insurmountable

What will it take? Some cuffs on your wrists?

Or bloody knuckles over the wrong guy’s fist?

Or a trip to the afterlife, the point of no return?

Strike the match, your legacy is yours to burn

Every dollar you made, every friend you abandoned

All the art you consumed, all the raging fandom

It doesn’t mean a damn thing in the very end

Because your actions and words I will never defend

So what happens next? Do you pass on your genes?

To the next generation of hateful teens?

I wouldn’t put it past you, because it sounds imperative

Your only mission in life is to capsize your narrative

Thursday, October 4, 2018

Incelbordination, Chapter 17


“Antero…I know the two of us can’t agree on a damn thing right now…I know all that incel propaganda has made you completely bat shit insane…but what I want to find out is…what the hell are you doing in my dorm…with a machete?!”

The trench coat-clad terrorist snickered while sharpening his blade with a whetstone, looking so casual like this was a part of his every day life. “What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here, buddy? Shouldn’t you be evacuated right now with the rest of the normies and manlets? It’s not my fault you didn’t get the memo, though you kind of have an excuse since you spent the last few nights in jail.”

Clenching his pain-wracked fists, Oswald gritted his teeth and said, “No, Antero. It’s your fault that this shit is happening to begin with! You caused all of this pain because you couldn’t find a girlfriend! You know what? I wanted to believe in your rhetoric. I wanted to believe I could start a revolution with just my two fists. And then I figured out a long time ago that if I gave you an enema right now, you could sleep in a matchbox.”

“Paraphrasing Christopher Hitchens isn’t going to save you from the ass beating I’m about to give you,” said Antero as he stood up and tossed the whetstone at Oswald, barely missing his head. “You want to talk about rhetoric and revolution and all that shit? None of it compares to the pain I feel on a daily basis. It’s not just about chicks and Chads anymore. I’m talking worldwide genocide, bitch!”

“Worldwide genocide, my ass, Antero! You can deny it all you want, but the whole world knows you’re pissed off about not getting laid. That’s all this is or else you wouldn’t be in my dorm room wielding a machete right now. Sooner or later, the police are going to find you. And when they do, the misery you feel inside is going to make your fucking head explode. Then again…you really can’t get any uglier, exploding head or not.”

“Bastard!” shouted Antero before rushing at Oswald with his blade held high. The terrorist took a swing and the dwarf managed to roll out of the way, but not without sending a toxic stream of pain through his body. As Oswald laid on the ground clutching his aching body parts, Antero planted a boot in his chest and held the machete to the little person’s throat. “You won’t get any flowers on your grave as I’ve already told you that morning with Uncle Tuomas. But if you have any requests for what’s carved into your tombstone, make them now or forever hold your peace.”

Instead of giving Antero the satisfaction, Oswald took a bear trap bite out of the terrorist’s toes, causing him to scream in agony and stumble backwards on his ass. The little guy’s pain boiled throughout his entire body as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. Meanwhile, Antero mocked him with, “I had no idea you were into feet, little manlet!”

“Burn in hell, you sick prick!” belted Oswald as he dashed towards the exit, but not without Antero shouting battle cries at him and swinging his machete like a schizophrenic samurai. The so-called “manlet” fumbled with the doorknob and lost precious time, allowing Antero to take another swing. Oswald moved his hand just in time and allowed the blade to slice off the doorknob. The dwarf kicked Antero in the shin and bolted out into the night air.

Try as he might to battle through the pain and ignore the inferno raging in his bones, Oswald stumbled over the sidewalk and allowed Antero to punt him in the ribs. The little guy went flying into a parked car and dented the door, causing the alarm to sound off throughout the neighborhood.

Oswald clutched his ribcage and whined in pain while the car alarm grated against his ears like a cheese shredder. Through watery eyes and darkening vision due to his slowing heart, he could see Antero smiling down at him with the blade pointed at his sorrowful face. This was it. This was how shit was going to end. Oswald thought of his own moments he would never experience in the afterlife. No deflowering. No true love. No Christmas morning. No graduation. No published books. Just a rotting midget corpse lying in the same grassy field as Uncle fucking Tuomas.

The dwarf had one last negotiation tactic before the blade severed his throat. “You should get the hell out of here before the police find you. There’s…” he spat up blood. “There’s an alarm going off, you know.” He spat up even more blood.

“Nobody’s coming to save you, you little shit. Just like nobody’s coming to save me. In the end, we’re all just chalk lines in the fucking concrete, drawn only to be washed away.”

“Sorry, Antero…but quoting Five Finger Death Punch isn’t going to save your life!” Sacrificing his foot, Oswald kicked the blade hard enough to sever a few toes and also blow it back in his attacker’s face. The leaking gash across Antero’s nose and mouth caused his screaming to sound like he was drowning in a bathtub. But instead of calling for help, he called for the one person who he thought could save him in this desperate time.

“Mommy! Help me! I want to go home! I don’t want to die! Don’t let me die! Mommy! Save me! I don’t want to meet Uncle Tuomas! He’ll tear me apart!”

Struggling to sit up with his ribs possibly broken and his foot mangled, Oswald couldn’t help but watch Antero’s melt down with a little bit of pity. He didn’t know if the tears in his eyes were from the pain or from genuine sadness. Here was a guy who thought he could change the world with his violent ways. And now that the violence was storming against him…all he could do was cry for his mommy.

Oswald reached for the dented car door’s handle and lifted himself to his one good foot. He noticed through sopping wet eyes that campus police had gotten word of the car alarm going off and Antero’s subsequent cries for mommy. Two burly men in green security uniforms grabbed the terrorist by his arms and hoisted him to his feet kicking and screaming before cuffing him. No matter how much Antero revolted, the same mommy rhetoric spewed from his mouth faster than the leaking machete wound.

Several students who had not yet evacuated the premise watched Antero’s arrest with tears in their own eyes. Their nightmares had come to an end right in front of them. But could they get their studies done in peace with heads full of trauma? Oswald kept wondering about his own studies, but quickly shifted his attention to his injured ribs and bloody foot. He stumbled across the parking lot and dropped to the ground, coughing up even more precious life fluids.

What happened next was something Oswald never dreamed of expecting in a million years. Other students actually knelt by his side to help him and see if he was okay. One of the girls pulled out her cell phone to call for an ambulance. The strokes of Oswald’s matted hair, the holding of his hands, and the gentle voices calming him down made him believe in worldwide love all over again. It didn’t have to be romantic. It didn’t have to be permanent. It was just people coming together during a moment of crisis and he was okay with that.

“Oswald, don’t die on us!” one of the female students shouted. “Open your eyes! An ambulance is coming to get you, okay?”

The dwarf wanted to get his piece in, but he vomited a geyser of blood all over his own face. The other students stepped back a little in shock, but immediately rejoined him to share his pain. “It’s over,” said Oswald through sloppy lips. “It’s over! He’s finally gone…”

Before he could finish his final thoughts, the dwarf blacked out yet again, which seemed to be a normal occurrence for him throughout these eventful few days under Incelbordination’s watch. He secretly wished he could have slept through this whole story. No pain. No trauma. No horny incels. Just peace and quiet…and maybe Bruce BecVar’s guitar playing and heavenly vocals.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Silent Warrior, Chapter 17


“Scott Marcus George, place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the statutory rape of Adrienne Melanie Simpson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, the state will provide you with free legal council. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

As chilling as those words were to hear, they couldn’t compare to the shrieks of terror from Scott’s own mother as he was dragged to the police vehicle in handcuffs. As he lay in his one-bunk jail cell with damp eyes, Scott replayed that morning in his head over and over again. He had just gotten home from serving detention. He finally had a calm moment with his only parent as they ate cereal together. And then the police obliterated that peace treaty by showing up at his house and reducing him to a convict.

Scott wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes for fear that other prisoners might see him like this and get some funny ideas. Yes, he was all alone in that cell with nothing but his thoughts, but even his own mind conspired against him in this dark time. Visions of anal penetration in the showers flooded his numbed out brain.

It hadn’t happened yet, but he could still feel Bubba’s hairy crowbar dick ripping his intestines to shreds. But instead of blood or shit coming out of his asshole, it was worms and maggots. Funny little creatures devouring his soul from the inside and leaving him with an empty shell. Scott wiped away even more tears, but the sounds of a knight stick banging against his cell bars brought him back to reality.

“Mr. George, your mother is here to see you. She don’t look happy,” said the guard.

He wasn’t lying. Beth George approached the bars looking like she saw the devil himself. Whatever tears Scott had in his eyes, his mother had an even bigger surplus of. Her hands trembled as she touched the bars and gazed deep into whatever was left of her son’s soul. “Scott…is it true? Did you really have sex with a young girl?” He just stared at her with blankness on his face, not even so much as a yes or no. “Answer me, damn it!” Beth screeched.

Scott sat up in his bunk bed and said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Whatever the case, I found something that neither you nor anybody else could give me: true love.”

“Scott, what the hell are you talking about?” wept Beth. “I’ve done nothing but love you this whole time. I know we haven’t been getting along lately, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. But now…” She wiped away tears and snot with the back of her hand. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

“Well, that’s funny, because you look so familiar to me,” said Scott as he approached his mother. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re someway related to Mr. Simpson. You both love to scream at the top of your lungs. You both like to intimidate your inferiors into getting what you want. You both orgasm yourselves inside out at the thought of me being sent to a military school. You say you do it all in the name of discipline and order. Well, my grades speak for themselves! I’ve got all the discipline I’ll ever need! How about some love every once and a while, huh?!”

“I’ve tried to give you love, Scott!” sobbed Beth. “I’ve tried to be easy with you! It wasn’t working! I can’t let you get complacent! And now here you are fucking little girls because you think they’re going to fill the void! Well, if you like sex so much, you’re going to get plenty of it in prison, I’ll tell you that right now! You did this to yourself, Scott! Now you’re going to live with the consequences for however long the judge says!”

“Listen to me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Scott. “If you and Mr. Simpson couldn’t get through to me, what makes you think a bunch of morons in orange jumpsuits are going to have any better luck? At least when I’m finally locked up, nobody will care if I fight back! Nobody’s coming to save the poor schmuck who gets his head kicked in by me! And if for some reason I get killed in the struggle, well, it’s been a damn good life and I’m more than ready to leave it!”

Pounding on the bars with closed fists, Beth bawled, “Stop talking like that, Scott! I don’t want you to die! I want you to realize what an asshole you are so that you can make something of yourself!”

“Oh, yeah right, like prison is going to be my ultimate education,” belted Scott. “They don’t teach things like Pythagorean Theorems and French grammar behind these walls. The prison system in this fucked up country takes innocent, damaged people like me and turns them into hardcore criminals. You can thank your conservative politicians for that one. How do I know all of this? Because I hate school and love education at the same time!”

Beth George collapsed onto the floor and soaked her knees in tears, all while Scott looked down on her with a stone cold expression. No pathetic display of emotion was going to shake his foundation that day. In his mind, he had come too far in this war against the system to be swayed by petty tears.

The mother used the jail bars to pick herself up and stared harshly into her son’s eyes while tears cascaded from her own. “If that’s how it’s going to be…then do me a favor, Scott. When your prison sentence is over, don’t even bother coming back home. You can go anywhere you want to when it’s all said and done. You can go live with that poor girl you fucked…you can live in the school’s tool shed…or better yet…you can go straight to hell!”

Beth scratched the bars and struggled to make her way down the hall when she heard her son say, “Whatever turns you on, Beth.”

She slowly turned around and hobbled back to Scott’s cell while asking in disbelief, “What did you call me?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few seconds ago, you just disowned me, right?” said Scott. “Well, as long as you’re throwing me away like a common piece of trash, we might as well be on a first name basis. You don’t want to be my mother anymore? You want to throw me to the wolves? Fine. Then I won’t bother calling you Mom anymore. You’re Beth now. You’re Beth fucking George!”

“You take that back, you sick bastard!” sobbed Beth as she scratched the bars yet again.

“You know what? You’re right. I do take that back. You’re not Beth George. You’re Beth Green! Green is your maiden name, right? Well, you better get used to being called that, because you’re even less of a wife than you are a mother. Dad is spinning in his grave like a pinwheel and it’s all your fault!”

“You monster!” shrieked Beth as she pounded on the jail bars like a silverback gorilla, prompting the guards to rush in and restrain her. Their tight grips on her arms and legs didn’t stop her from screaming vitriol at her now ex-son. “You bastard! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life! Hell, I hope you get sent to the gas chamber! You’re no son of mine! You’re a monster! You’re a fucking monster, Scott George!”

Just before Beth could be dragged through the doorway, Scott had a stranglehold on the bars as he roared, “I welcome the gas chamber, you stupid cunt! Hell, I’ll even settle for the electric fucking chair! There ain’t enough lightning in this world for me! I hope the state uses the whole fucking power grid against me! At least then I can get some goddamn peace and quiet for once! Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”

The white hot display of anger left Scott’s entire body juicy red. He breathed heavily as his lungs and heart worked overtime to keep him on his feet. Feeling his legs wobbling like gummy worms, he staggered back to his bunk bed and face planted onto the mattress. At this point he didn’t care if other prisoners or prison guards saw him cry. He was going to unleash his biblical flood of facial fluids into that one pillow. Drool, tears, snot, they all came rushing out of his system like a leaky oil pipeline.

His mind raced like a cheetah scurrying from rifle-wielding game hunters. He knew he would be a changed man once he got out of prison (if he was found guilty). Would he change so much that Adrienne wouldn’t recognize him anymore? Would she turn him away once he showed even once sign of aggression towards her? Would she abandon him at the thought of Scott being raped in the showers? All in all, he really felt like the world’s biggest pain in the ass, sodomy aside. To wait for him on the other side, let alone put up with his newfound outlook on life, required the patience of a saint. Adrienne, as young as she was, probably didn’t have a massive supply of that.

“I’m sorry, Adrienne…I’m so sorry!” whined Scott as he sank into a deep, haunted sleep.