Showing posts with label Boredom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boredom. Show all posts

Friday, February 4, 2022

Good Morning to No One

7:30 in the morning

The sky looks like shit

Wintry mix is pouring down

And I’m getting sick of it


9:30 in the morning

Hit the head, go back to bed

I never once believed in

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead”


11:30 in the morning

Put on clothes, feed the cat

Doom scroll into infinite

And wonder why I feel sad


1:00 in the afternoon

I eat a Hungry, Hungry Man

Breakfast of champions

It’s amazing I can still stand


2:30 in the afternoon

It’s the same old, same old

Watch a video, learn nothing

Spend the rest of the day cold


4:30 in the evening

Will I or will I not?

Another day in stasis

Emotions of a porno bot


6:30 in the evening

Eat my dinner way too fast

More COVID deaths on the news

And it sure won’t be the last


8:30 in the evening

Should I eat a whole pizza pie?

It’s the only thing I can do

To resist the urge to cry


10:00 at night

I’m not ready for the sack

I’d probably wake up anyway

With all this pain in my back


Midnight, oh, midnight

Will you come take me away?

I can’t believe in tomorrow

When it’s another shitty day


2:00 in the morning

My eyes are too heavy

Here comes the final flood

To break down the eyelid levies


Good morning to no one

You couldn’t hear me anyway

Too busy with your own life

Earning peanuts for your pay

Thursday, September 9, 2021

I Don't Feel Victorious

VERSE 1

I did it, I lived through another day

But I don’t feel victorious

Bought a pizza with my monthly pay

But it didn’t taste glorious

Found my emotional charging cord

But I don’t feel like a hero man

Powered down, left to feel bored

My battery’s down to zero, man


CHORUS 1

Forged in fire, what the hell does that even mean?

Can’t be the brightest star that you have ever seen

Greatness is born from a life so torturous

And yet, through it all, I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious


VERSE 2

I covered more pages in precious ink

But I don’t feel like a storyteller

I washed all the dishes in my sink

But I still feel deader than Old Yeller

I vacuumed all the dust right off the floor

But I don’t feel like Employee of the Year

Life goes back to being just another bore

But I don’t feel like I belong here


CHORUS 2

Hustle Culture, what the hell is that all about?

Getting fired for having the slightest of self-doubt

And now the big boss man is busy sorting us

Now’s not the time where I feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious


BRIDGE

Conditioned to feel bad every day of our lives

For daring to exist or trying to just survive

We don’t have a whole lot, not even a nine to five

We don’t want to be dead, but we don’t want to be alive


CHORUS 3

Embrace the suck, what the hell are the layman’s terms?

Die fifteen hundred times and then lay with the worms

The graveyard needs bodies, now the undertaker’s hoarding us

None of us have any right to feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

None of us feel…

Sunday, July 25, 2021

Heath Riggs the Clumsy Cowboy

 The sum’bitch who said hanging on isn’t a good thing never had to worry about their equilibrium over a mud pit. Have you ever tried to wash mud and pig shit off of clothing with nothing but a Tide Pod and a spinning machine? Neither of those stains are coming out without a fight. But it was a battle that Heath Riggs was not prepared or willing to fight. When I was contacted on Deviant Art in early 2011 for an RP request, I figured it would be some nice D&D fun with orcs chopping off elves’ heads and gnomes picking the pockets of arrogant kings who sat their asses on purple cushions. Unfortunately, it turned out to be anything but.


My recollection of this particular role-playing session is fuzzy at best, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I don’t remember this woman’s name nor do I remember the name of her character. No, I’m not just protecting her identity, I seriously don’t remember. All I know was that she was so adamant about me getting a Yahoo Messenger account so that we could do this in real time instead of posting it as messages on a board somewhere. 


Without coming off as rude, she did have a bit of an aggressive streak when it came to asking for this role-play. She MUST know when I’m available to play. She MUST know how she can reach me. She MUST know why I’m having trouble accessing a Yahoo account I haven’t touched since the W administration. Red flag city, here I come. Come to think of it, I do believe there is a place where red flags are prominent. John Cena knows of this place since he had to apologize to their government for calling Taiwan a country.


So what was the premise of this role-play that the mysterious woman was so desperate to get out of me? What could possibly be so important to require my writing skills and RPG knowledge? Is it a trip to outer space to shoot lasers at aliens? Is it a dungeon crawl that involves throwing axes and shooting arrows at fire-breathing dragons? Is it a wrestling RPG where Triple H is serving up sledgehammer shots and graveyard burials like he didn’t steal the latter gimmick from The Undertaker? No, no, no, not even close. She wanted this role-play to take place on a cattle ranch. She was the farm girl, I was the cowboy known as Heath Riggs. Why Heath Riggs? Because I chose it and she was okay with it. Heath reminded her of Heath Ledger’s role in Brokeback Mountain and Riggs reminded her of pickup trucks in the rural area in which the RPG took place.


Unfortunately, Heath Riggs’s name was the only badass thing about him. As the newest cowboy at the farm girl’s ranch, he came off as awkward to be in conversations with. Okay, not so bad just yet. I’m an awkward conversationalist in real life, so it’s bound to come out in my role-playing of Heath’s character. He and the farm girl talked about his newbie status. They talked about his past employment. They talked about his past relationships. They talked about how this totally ranks low on the weirdest experiences Heath has ever had. I don’t have a script with me, so this is the best I can do as far as show don’t tell goes. Pretty mundane stuff in the lives of socially weird people. Not exciting at all. The cowboy in question wasn’t of the Sergio Leone variety. He was just a guy who fiddle-fucked around with the animals.


And then…from out of nowhere…my role-playing partner decides that Heath Riggs will slip on a puddle of mud and pig shit and get his clothes stained beyond recognition. I didn’t decide it. She did. Her character laughed like she just watched an episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Come to think of it, if this happened in real life, it would probably take home the grand prize on that show. Maybe with the winning purse, Heath wouldn’t have to work at a mediocre ranch anymore! But until then…another slip in the mud (which sounds like a Pink Floyd song if they played country instead of classic rock). And another. And another. And another. Heath looked like his candy bar namesake, but less appetizing. Nobody would be eating him that afternoon, least of all the giggling farm girl.


Obviously, I wasn’t having a good time in this RP. I almost fell asleep on multiple occasions. My butt was numb. My jaw was clenched tightly. I needed to get the hell out of that Yahoo chat room. I finally told the woman that I had to get going for the day and secretly hoped she wouldn’t chew me out over it. She was aggressive enough in getting me to role-play with her in the first place, so why wouldn’t she be possessive over my spare time like an obsessed yandere? But to my surprise, she was understanding. We said our goodbyes in a way that was just as uneventful as it would have been for Heath Riggs and the nameless farm girl.


Now…one thing you need to understand about me is that I had and still to an extent have a hard time saying no to people when I’m feeling uncomfortable. It could be a trauma response, but agreeing to unsavory conditions to keep the peace was what I did best back in 2011. I was never prepared to deal with getting yelled at or being made to look like the bad guy for standing up for myself. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up and keeping friendships was too important to me, even if they weren’t healthy ones. Even as I type this, I realize that I’d rather be lonely than share a space with toxic people. The woman in question wasn’t what I’d consider toxic, but I did have qualms about telling her that the RP wasn’t working out. I ghosted her for weeks on end. I didn’t go anywhere near Yahoo Messenger.


I dreaded the day when she would eventually contact me on Deviant Art and ask me where the hell I was. I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn’t get through 2011 without having to face that day. So when she finally asked where I was, I took a chance. I told her the RP wasn’t working out for me. I told her that I preferred fast-paced adventures like the D&D campaigns promised. I told her that it wasn’t anything against her. I told her that Heath Riggs’s clumsy cowboy gimmick was boring me to tears. I was expecting to get chewed out like a wad of bubblegum. I was expecting to look more villainous than Voldemort and Dolores Umbridge put together.


But instead…she understood where I was coming from. No grudge. No backlash. No venom of any kind. She understood and it was okay with her that I didn’t want to continue. I gave her a digital hug and the two of us went our separate ways. The name Heath Riggs would eventually be recycled into a debt collector character in a cyberpunk short story who went on a local news show to spill industry secrets and make the pervy anchor look like a buffoon on live TV. There was no real reason for him to be named Heath Riggs other than the fact that it sounded cool. There was no Brokeback Mountain reference. There was no need for an eighteen-wheeler. Just a guy named Heath who betrayed the debt-collection industry by exposing their greatest weaknesses. At least Heath didn’t slip in pig shit this time, although, one would argue that the news anchor more than qualified for the role of pig shit.


The lesson of the day, my young grasshoppers, is to speak up when you’re uncomfortable. It takes a lot of bravery to do in the face of kind people. It takes even more bravery to do it in the presence of your family and friends. But if they don’t know, then nothing will change. Yes, you may be labeled a villain for saying no. But the bigger question is, why isn’t the other person a villain for forcing you into a situation you don’t want to be in? You’re chaotic neutral at worst, but the pushy bastards who want to keep you under their thumb are fifty shades of lawful evil. 


You can wear the dark cloak, but they can wear the QAnon shaman furs. And besides, what’s the worst that could happen to you for playing the role of villain? You’ll have fewer friends, sure, but being on your own is better than being surrounded by toxic assholes. At least you’re good company. At least the darkness of your solitude will give you some cool rumination. A toxic asshole will give you trauma and heartache, neither of which are worth retaining for their comfort.


This is a lesson I have yet to learn myself even though I’m preaching it like a mega-church wing-nut. I haven’t prepared myself for ultimate loneliness. Maybe it’s something I should talk with a therapist about. Maybe when I do, I can bring up the Heath Riggs example as to why it’s beneficial for me to stand up for myself. For some toxic people, I’m risking not only a lack of friendship, but sometimes a beating and ridicule. You know what? Put me in the ICU for all I care. I’ll get the best medical treatment I’ve ever had while you’re rotting in a prison cell. As it turns out, taking toxicity too far is fucking illegal. I’m not worth going to prison over, no matter who you are. You think losing my friendship is lonely for you? Prison is lonelier. It lasts longer, too. So, bring it on, world!

Wednesday, April 28, 2021

Limousines and Lattes

VERSE 1

He rides the limousine from the holy mountains

He drinks like a camel from the youthful fountain

He rides the limousine over the mass graves

And tells the disenfranchised they need to behave

He rides the limousine to the enchanted forest

He runs over the faeries in the middle of a chorus

He rides the limousine to the spiral dragon tower

He meets up with his cult to consolidate his power

He rides the limousine

He rides the limousine


VERSE 2

A thousand dollar latte is warming up his hand

As he sits and listens to some elevator bands

He sips on his latte and it tastes like puppy blood

He tips the clerk enough to buy a suicide gun

A thousand dollar latte is sliding down his throat

As he is out at sea in his golden Viking boat

Kids drowning in the water are reaching for help

He tells them to get a job in the ninth circle of hell

A thousand dollar latte

He sips on his latte


VERSE 3

He rides the limousine into the gates of heaven

He sips on his latte at around half-past eleven

He rides the limousine over the angels’ wings

He sips on his latte as the dying cherubs sing

He rides the limousine over the godly throne

He sips on his latte sweetened with powdered bones

He rides the limousine under the lovely rainbow

He sips on his latte underneath his own halo

He rides the limousine

He sips on his latte


VERSE 4

He’s bored of his affluence, all his money is useless

He’s bored of all his power, the lattes go sour

He hates his limousine, wants to go to the other place

He was there this whole time, terror on his saggy face

He hates his limousine

He hates his lattes

He has everything he wants

But the devil is the boss

He rides the limousine!

Saturday, January 16, 2021

Characters Without Aspirations

 If somebody is living a “normal” life, it’s seen as a positive. If somebody is living an “average” life, it’s seen indifferently. However…if somebody is living a “mediocre” life, then shame on that person. Normal, average, and mediocre all have the same meaning, yet their connotations are different across each word. Normal and average characters are relatable, but mediocre ones are looked down up with disgust. But when a critic is talking about a mediocre character, they’re not usually talking about the character’s upbringing, education, or work life. Mediocrity often means the character has no ambitions, dreams, or aspirations. Three-dimensional characters are the best kind and a character cannot be three-dimensional without at least one feasible goal or lifelong dream. That’s what we’ve been taught as writers because that’s what makes a story interesting to begin with.


But is that always the case? Do characters HAVE to have big dreams and aspirations? Commonsense would dictate that a character-driven story would mean having the MC pursue an end game. But what if the character had no dreams or aspirations at all? Sounds pretty boring, doesn’t it? Until you dig a little deeper into why that is. Maybe the character is so depressed that he can’t see a future for himself. Maybe he’s older and subscribes to the “don’t follow your passion” rhetoric that conservatives of his generation like to preach. Maybe he’s a younger child who’s been brainwashed by the school system into believing that STEM jobs are the only kind that matter. With the latter case, the brainwashed child in question has a goal, but not the one he originally intended. Does that count? Not if he’s going through the motions.


Mediocrity isn’t fun to read about, but the reasons behind it can be. In fact, the reasons alone could turn an otherwise dull character into someone to root for. Maybe the goal is to break the cycle of mediocrity and become his own person. Maybe the goal is to murder the people responsible for creating his dull situation. Wait a minute. Did that get a little too extreme for you? Is it really reasonable for a mundane character to go around stabbing people to death if they forced him into a life of boredom? Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, you’ve got a compelling story on your hand. 


Conformity through brainwashing or creative suppression can be a powerful thing. That’s why millennials and Gen Z people tend to dislike Mike Rowe, because he’s using his platform to encourage capitalistic conformity. Conforming to society will make you more presentable in the eyes of the CEO’s writing your checks. Okay, Boomer, enough is enough.


While most people do want to break the chains of capitalism and tell Mike Rowe to suck a big fat one, there are legitimate slackers in society. I’m sure you, my lovely audience, have gone to school with a few of these guys. They don’t do homework. They spend their time in class shooting spitballs and fucking around. They mouth off to the teacher when they’re receiving genuine criticism. While these students don’t make up an entire generation nor can they not be saved, they do exist and they can often be interesting characters to read about. 


It’s easy to tell this lackadaisical student to “get a job” and “stop screwing around”. But have you ever been inside the mind of one of these students? Maybe the sour attitude is a cover-up for suppressed trauma. Maybe he doesn’t feel like there’s any hope for him after all. Or maybe he just wants to play videogames and fuck the world. Even the latter of those choices can be made into three-dimensional character work if an author knows what the hell he’s doing.


You’re probably reading all of this and are digging into the recesses of your mind trying to find examples of mediocre characters that are fun to read about. You want to find the difference between being lost in a dream due to aspirations and lost in a dream because he doesn’t want to wake up and face the world. Not a book, per se, but the 1994 comedy Clerks is a good example of this. Dante works at the Quick Stop Convenience Store and has no plans of bettering his life, yet he constantly complains about the situation he’s in. His friend Randal works at RST Video Store and doesn’t mind slacking off every once and a while as long as he gets to anger the customers. 


Two mediocre workers, different clashing mindsets. They have little goals here and there. Dante wants to get back together with his ex-girlfriend Caitlin while still dating a superior woman in Veronica. He wants to play hockey on the rooftop. He wants to go to a funeral to say goodbye to one of his exes. But are any of these goals really going to get him out of his depressive funk? No fucking way. Even if he somehow achieves these goals, he’ll go right back to where he was the next day: tedium and shitty customers. Dante and Randal have painfully ordinary lives, yet Clerks is considered a cult classic and Kevin Smith’s best movie of all time.


But if you’re going to intentionally write a mediocre character and have him lead the charge, his uncaring attitude should mesh well with his environment. If the character is a humanoid dragon barbarian fighting for his life in a dark fantasy kingdom with demons, devils, and zombies chewing on his flesh, that MC cannot afford to be mediocre for even a second. Yes, Gary-Stus exist, but in a fantasy or sci-fi setting, they’re frowned upon. Speculative fiction is known for having colorful worlds where the author’s imagination runs wild. Crystal castles in the sky, fireball magic spells, temptress witches, electromantic dragons, sneaky goblins, they’ve got it all! If a character is mediocre in an above-average setting, then that’s a problem.


But…what if a character is mediocre in a BELOW-average setting? What if the fantasy world has turned to absolute shit and the character gives into his urges to give up all hope? It doesn’t even have to be a nuclear apocalypse, no, no, no. It could be worldwide blight. It could be constant darkness. It could be monsters and zombies overrunning everything. Or it could be an actual world of shit, because there’s nowhere else to go to the bathroom. Losing hope and giving up easily would be perfectly understandable in a below-average hellscape. At that point, the character has two choices: give up entirely and submit to the Lovecraftian negativity, or find smaller goals to achieve if only to make life a little more bearable than it was before.


By choosing the latter of those two scenarios, your characters cease to be mediocre. An example of this is a 2009 movie called Zombieland. As the title would suggest, zombies have taken over the world and are chewing on humans like bubblegum. Fuck hope, because it’ll never come back no matter how many shotgun shells are popped off at these undead cannibals. The world will never return to its normal state. So what do the characters do? They cope. They don’t solve everything. They cope. Woody Harrelson’s character wants to find Twinkies and eat them like he was a zombie himself. The two girls in the zombie-escaping team want to go to a theme park and party it up. The main character? He just wants to see his family again. By having these little goals to keep them company in an otherwise shitty world, a run-of-the-mill comedy has become a three-dimensional story that deserves all the praise it gets.


In case it wasn’t apparent by now, mediocrity itself isn’t good or bad (that’s the very definition of the word). It’s what an author does with it that counts the most. Hell, it can even apply to real life, even in a nonconformist setting. It doesn’t have to be all about brainwashing and Boomerisms. Sometimes those big dreams aren’t what they appear to be when examined further. I had lots of dreams when I was younger, but didn’t realize how damaging those pursuits will be until I grew older. I wanted to be a pro-wrestler, but that would involve exhausting exercise, injuries, tedious travel, and bullying from the higher ups. I wanted to be a heavy metal singer, but that would also involve tedious travel, along with clashing egos, heavy criticism, potential drug and alcohol use, meaningless sex, and yes, sometimes injuries. I wanted to be a screenwriter, but that would involve traveling to Hollywood and potentially being molested by Harvey Weinstein or someone just like him. 


After all of those options, the one I decided was least detrimental to both my mental and physical health was the life of an author. I can still indulge in my creative fantasies. I can still tell Mike Rowe to get fucked. I can still be a productive person. And above all else, no injuries! Have you ever heard about an author who broke his neck while typing a novel? No, and you never will. Maybe mental injuries could be more prevalent with worldwide criticism and general trolling, but that’s not enough to keep me from pursing my dreams of being an author. I live a normal life without submitting to mediocrity. I guess I could be a three-dimensional character in someone’s novel. Or I could just do a complete self-insert, one of the two.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

Depression Is Boring

***DEPRESSION IS BORING***

So…I went for my annual physical a couple of weeks ago…and part of this physical with the new doctor was for me to fill out a brief questionnaire about my mental health. These questions included things like “Can you concentrate on basic activities?” and “Do you get easily angered?” Long story short, I scored high on the depression part of the quiz and low on the anxiety portion, although the most defining part of that anxiety quiz was how easily I get angered by little mishaps in life. Obviously, this questionnaire isn’t meant to be an official diagnosis, but if what it says is leaning towards the truth…then there’s a good chance I could have depression alongside my other mental illnesses. It would make the most sense because of the isolation from the pandemic. Everybody’s feeling on-edge right now and it’s particularly worse for people with preexisting mental health problems.

If you follow me on Face Book and/or Twitter, you’ll find that I’m quite candid about my mental illnesses. Lacking the energy to concentrate on basic creative tasks is something I experience far too often these days. The gaps in time between editing chapters of Beautiful Monster, between writing fan fiction shorts, between drawing (passable) pictures of fantasy characters, they’re far too long for my liking. While resting up is pretty much the only way to recover depleted energy, what am I supposed to do until then? If my concentration levels suck that badly, that means anything I do will be usurped by depression. This leads me to believe that…above all else…depression is fucking boring. More than anything, it’s a fucking bore. Staying in bed all day might sound glorious, especially to someone with an exhausting work schedule. But trust me, there’s no glory in feeling defeated all day long.

So what do I do to fill the time in between projects, where resting is paramount? Surely, I can’t just lie in bed all day with my racing thoughts and new age music in the background. If that’s the only thing filling the gaps of time, then that truly is the definition of boredom. Would there be any activities that didn’t require a great deal of focus? I know of at least one of them: You Tube videos. Some of my favorite You Tubers of all time include Jenna Moreci, Hannah Lee Kidder, The Authentic Observer, Cynical Reviews, Krimson Rogue, Casey Aonso, and Strange Aeons to name a few. But like me, they too have long gaps in between creative activities, their primary source being You Tube uploads. So while I’m waiting for new content…what will I do until then?

I suppose I could just watch movies and TV shows since they’re generally considered mindless activities. I have the power to do that since I got a Roku for my birthday this year. The thing is, though, I consider movies to be yet another one of my creative outlets since I write reviews for them once they’re over. So why can’t I just watch a movie for fun and forgo the review entirely? Because reviews are my personal contribution to the world when everything else is on hold. The same can’t be said for TV shows, though, because in order to properly review one, I’d have to condense the many episodes down to one or two talking points. That’s why I don’t review TV shows as often as movies, so maybe TV shows will be strictly for enjoyment and not creative fuel.

You want to know what I’m watching right now? Well, since I’m depressed as fuck, there’s only one wrestling show that can pick me up again: Dark Side of the Ring. If that sounds ironic, it should. Dark Side of the Ring is a documentary series produced by Viceland that covers shameful topics in professional wrestling, whether it’s the death of Gino Hernandez, the Montreal Screwjob, the Chris Benoit double-murder suicide, or if you need a more recent example, New Jack’s controversial behavior. Seriously, the New Jack episode made me feel grateful that I didn’t become a hardcore wrestler, because I probably would have been carved like a Thanksgiving turkey by this insane motherfucker. Rest in peace, Mass Transit. Eat shit, New Jack.

Another go-to source of fun during times of depression has been taking photographs of my animals and toys and Photoshopping them in creative ways. I have over a hundred pictures of Piper alone, more than any other animal I’ve had or currently have. What about my Lego ogre? The one with the tooth hammer and the nasty demeanor? He probably got more camera time than any other toy I’ve got.

But therein lies the problem: every time I take a picture and post it online, it feels like I’m playing the greatest hits and doing the same thing over and over again. Yes, there are over a hundred pictures of Piper, but what’s the difference between each of them individually? One of them was adjusted through a green filter to make it look like she was being abducted by aliens. One of them was adjusted through a red filter to make it look like she was being haunted by demons. One of them is a close-up of her face with a purple filter. So what? A few unique pictures out of many similar ones? Something needs to change. Same goes for the toy pictures.

Here’s another activity that I can fall back on during days of depression: long distance walks, either to the Hi-Way Market convenience store or around the Fred Meyer plaza, the latter of which will give me more exercise due to how long it is. But since we’re in the middle of a summertime heat wave, is it really wise for me to stay outdoors longer, especially when my energy is sapped from my body and mind because of the heat? Am I really getting much of a workout going to the convenience store since it’s a shorter distance? Either way, I can only do these outdoor walks once because of the physical toll it takes on my 300 lb body. Once they’re over for the day, I’ve got to find something else to do.

I’m probably leaving a lot of potential activities out for the sake of brevity. Yes, it’s Port Orchard and even if it wasn’t, it’s still not safe to go out in public for anything other than necessities. The only source of fun has to come from my own home and that’s where a lot of my mental health problems get triggered. Yes, I’m an introvert who craves solitude, but isolation and loneliness are an entirely different ball of wax. That shit messes with my head in ways I never thought possible. Negative memories from under two decades ago are flooding my mind like they actually matter in 2020.

I was lucky enough to find the peace and quiet I needed to write this blog entry, but that’s not always the case. Waiting for the memories to die down takes time…and taking time is boring, just like depression itself. Let me say it one more time for the armchair psychologists in the back: depression is a fucking bore! Depression is like watching three hours of Monday Night Raw in the fall of 2018. Depression is like watching paint dry. Depression is like watching grass grow. It is…a FUCKING BORE!


***ONLINE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(Circa 2005)

MY SPACE TROLL: You need some serious help if you thought that movie was good.

GARRISON: Help? What kind of help? I know! Why don’t you come on over here and help me with my pants zipper! There’s a special prize for you underneath if you do!

Monday, June 22, 2020

Couch Potato Salad

Running late to a party where I don’t belong
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow

Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me

Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here

There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness

Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?

Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove

Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness

When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters

A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory

Friday, April 24, 2020

Kentucky Fried Brain


Kentucky Fried Brain, nothing to do today
The world is just a boring place anyway
No dragons, no elves, no hidden treasure
No aliens, no lizard men, no such pleasure
No cowboys, no knights, no sorcerers
No adventures beyond these white corridors
They say a book is a best friend for life
Closer than family, closer than a wife
But how can I cross this mystical portal
When my soul is aware that it’s mortal?
I don’t have the keys to heaven’s gates
I know that a lot of you can surely relate
If that’s the case, then why the slow pace?
Why am I in last place in this human race?
Why does the back of the line feel lonely?
Why does the prison of my mind feel homely?
Why is my mattress the best place for me?
Why is the white ceiling all I can see?
Why can’t I remember any of my dreams?
Waking up has become impossible it seems
Better luck tomorrow or the day right after
Maybe I’ll wait for another New Years disaster
Maybe I’ll wait until my skin is leathery
Maybe my golden years will have more energy
Even with a bed in the retirement home?
Even when I’ve got nowhere else to roam?
You bet your sweet ass, my fellow corpse
Kentucky Fried Brain, final meal course
Heart attack city, a self-cannibal’s cost
No gravity in heaven, floating and lost
Good thing I have the patience of a saint
You know the old phrase: hurry up and wait
When one door closes, another one opens
Until that one locks and you feel hopeless
The universe doesn’t slow for one person
Even when you’re trapped in the hearses

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Small Talk


VERSE 1
I don’t care about the weather, not now, not ever
Even in a blizzard, I can think of a topic much better
I don’t give a shit about how your day is going
I could go my whole life without once ever knowing
I don’t give a fuck about where your ass is from
Could you think of a question that isn’t so dumb?
I don’t give a damn about who your family is
I’m not a part of it nor someone you will miss

CHORUS
Fuck small talk! It’s boring!
All these words you’re storing!
I want peace! I want quiet!
I want motherfucking silence!

VERSE 2
I don’t give a rat’s ass about where you work
But telling you to fuck off will label me a jerk
I don’t give a flying fuck about your childhood
Sleep in your fetus jar like every child should
I don’t give a good goddamn about your car
Get your ass in it and drive away really far
I’d rather shoot myself in the fucking skull
Than listen to you give your string another pull

CHORUS
Fuck small talk! It’s boring!
All these words you’re storing!
I want peace! I want quiet!
I want motherfucking silence!

VERSE 3
An introvert’s dream is a Gracie Films shush
That goes unchallenged, not even a little push
An introvert’s paradise is a cat and a novel
Away from those who flap their gums and waddles
I’m not sorry for standing up for my own peace
I’m not sorry for making this conversation cease
Meaningless words fell on the deafest of ears
I don’t care if this makes me awkward and weird

EXTENDED CHORUS
Fuck small talk! It’s boring!
All these words you’re storing!
I want peace! I want quiet!
I want motherfucking silence!
Fuck small talk! It’s annoying!
There’s nothing worth enjoying!
I need rest! I need sleep!
Now beat it, you fucking creep!

Intro: When I Was Young


When I was young, I could tell the world to fuck off with little to no consequences.

I could throw the first punch.

I could bruise the biggest egos.

I could walk among giants.

And then one day…the world fought back.

A shade of purple underneath my eye.

A shade of red in my tunnel vision.

A shade of gray in my foggy mind.

Ever since then, I broke down my own walls just to make others feel comfortable.

I gave you all comfort you didn’t deserve.

You took full advantage of that and more.

The only way you left my life was on your own terms.

Did I give you permission to walk all over me? Don’t answer that.

I don’t care if you think I’m a boring person.

I don’t care if you think I’m an awful writer.

I don’t care if you think I’m too ugly for love.

I stopped caring what you think the minute you haunted my mind like a schizophrenic ghost.

I learned how to cope using positive thinking.

And then you gave me permission to feel bad.

I guess I was only just fucking myself.

The day will come when I’m able to rise up and tell the world to fuck off once more.

It won’t be today.

It won’t be tomorrow.

But one day when you’ve pushed enough of my buttons, I will strike.

I held back too many times for fear of fucking everything up.

But when I unleash my full strength…I’ll take every one of you motherfuckers with me to hell.

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Conditioned to Ignore Me


VERSE 1
The Clockwork Orange magic spell
Gave you a brainwashed story to tell
Conditioned to ignore me no matter what
Whether I hurt inside or have a deeper cut
I could burn a building to the ground
Or I could rescue an abused hound
Optimist, pessimist, who gives a fuck?
If it’s a cry for help, I’m shit out of luck

CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen

VERSE 2
Pavlov’s sorcery has got you by the balls
Conditioned to laugh whenever I fall
Conditioned to walk right past me
Conditioned to low-key blast me
It’s meat paste and the bell once again
Making drooling slaves out of good friends
I could burn the world or buy you pearls
Who’d give a fuck? Any boy or girl?

CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen

VERSE 3
I could hack the biggest computer database
I could kiss my kitty on his fuzzy little face
I could ride a nuclear missile like a horsy
I could pet every Labrador and every Corgi
Your conditioned response is still the same
To forget that I exist or that I have a name
Who put this spell on your pretty little head?
Who was the one who wished your soul dead?

EXTENDED CHORUS
Conditioned to ignore me
Because you find me boring
Because I’m down on my knees
Begging for me to finally be seen
Conditioned to reject me
Chew me up then digest me
Because I can’t scream loud enough
Somebody else already has it rough

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

My Dinosaur

SOBBING DIALOGUE
My dinosaur! X4

VERSE 1
You took away all my toys
The only things to fill the void
The only things to cure boredom
Anything to restore your order
You smashed my Legos to bits
Stomped my videogames to shit
Popped the heads off my dolls
Do you have a heart at all?

CHORUS
Give me back what’s mine!
I’ll be a good boy this time!
I’ll get the very best grades!
I know how to fucking behave!
Don’t tell me to act my age!
Or I’ll unleash my inner rage!
They’ll have to lock me in a cage!
All I wanted to do was play!

SOBBING DIALOGUE
My dinosaur! X2

VERSE 2
What does this punishment prove?
That your authority is always true?
That the skies aren’t always blue?
Creativity wasn’t meant to bloom?
I don’t need the fucking rubber room
You need your own fucking tomb
You burned my whole toy collection
I’ll cut your giant ass into sections

CHORUS
Give me back what’s mine!
I’ll be a good boy this time!
I’ll get the very best grades!
I know how to fucking behave!
Don’t tell me to act my age!
Or I’ll unleash my inner rage!
They’ll have to lock me in a cage!
All I wanted to do was play!

SOBBING DIALOGUE
My dinosaur! X2

VERSE 3
I don’t owe society shit
It isn’t me throwing a fit
Playtime will forever be mine
Don’t care about falling in line
Don’t care about responsibilities
Or even employable abilities
Starting over with my own toys
Won’t wait for Christmas joys

FINAL BRIDGE
Give me my dinosaur!
I won’t wait anymore!
Life doesn’t have to bore!

Give me my dinosaur before I beat it out of you!

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Rise and Shine

VERSE 1
Rise and shine for your fucked up mind
There’s no more time to relax and unwind
Get your ass out of bed, Mr. Sleepyhead
Rise like a zombie coming back from the dead

CHORUS 1
Rise and shine or your ass is mine!
Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine!
Rise and shine for the dollar signs!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

VERSE 2
Too many stories and not enough glory
A life of snoring is so damn boring
Work your fingers to the powdery bone
Your flesh melts like an ice cream cone
Your blood boils like a river of lava
Your wheels turn as you pen this drama
Do it all again on the very next day
This line of work is where you’ll stay

CHORUS 1
Rise and shine or your ass is mine!
Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine!
Rise and shine for the dollar signs!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

BRIDGE
This lifestyle isn’t just a stepping stone
It’s what you should be calling home
There’s nothing bigger, nothing better
To your own craft, you are a debtor

VERSE 3
Something mysterious is holding you back
Energy and fire is what you fucking lack
You burned yourself out like a dying candle
The daily grind you’ll never be able to handle
Good morning is a hypocritical phrase
When all you want to do is laze in your haze
Stressed out, pissed off, fucked up, get lost
Now you know the deal, time to pay the cost

CHORUS 2
Rise and shine? Go fuck yourself!
Rise and shine? Go straight to hell!
Rise and shine? No goddamn chance!

Find another partner for your puppet dance!

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Distractions From Eating

***DISTRACTIONS FROM EATING***

I have my creative work to thank for a lot of things in my life whether it’s easing schizophrenic symptoms, getting my voice out there, or just having some good old fashioned imaginative fun. Now I have another thing I can thank my art for: distracting me from overeating. As many of you know, I’ve struggled with my weight for a good portion of my adult life. I’ve tried the Atkins Diet and was successful with it, but only temporarily. My main problem was that I was always bored and overeating was my favorite source of fun. It didn’t matter if it was McDonald’s, candy bars, soda, or pizza; if I was bored and junk food was available to me, I would wolf it down and feel like shit afterwards.

Say whatever you will about my skill level with drawing pictures or my frequency of cat pictures, but alongside my writing, reading, and editing, they’ve been welcome distractions from overeating. And whenever I posted a piece of art to my social media accounts, I would scroll through my pictures and admire my handiwork, not because I’m an arrogant jerk, but because I don’t have to think about eating. Even when I’m watching What Culture’s WWE videos or Last Week Tonight with John Oliver episodes on You Tube, I’m doing something other than stuffing my face. Living in a boring place like Port Orchard, it’s easy to give into your food-related vices since there are restaurants, grocery stores, and convenience stores pretty much everywhere you go.

Ever since I’ve been occupying my mind in even the smallest ways, I’ve been eating less frequently and looking better in the mirror as a result. If I ever did get bored enough to eat, I’d usually drink a bottle of distilled water instead and piss away the pounds. I drank a lot of water and ate minimally while I was in Hawaii and have already noticed changes in my body. When I first flew from Seattle to Kauai, I would need a seatbelt extender. When I returned home to Sea-Tac, the airplane seatbelts fit perfectly fine. I’ve also noticed that I’m getting full off of less food and I’m not huffing and puffing when I return home from my walks.

Obviously, I’m still a heavy guy and there are times where I occasionally grab a bag of Mickey D’s or a Pizza Hut pizza. I am by no means a weight loss guru or a super athlete. However, I’m not the only one who says that overeating can be triggered by moments of extreme boredom. Scientific studies, gym teachers, food documentaries, I’ve heard them all echo these sentiments. While I understand that what works for one person won’t necessarily work for the other, I can say with confidence that little distractions are helping me lose weight. It may be a slow process and I may have miles to go, but the thing about losing weight is that you feel the effects right away. Your mood improves, you have more energy, and you look at yourself in the mirror with less judgment.

But of course, there are days when I don’t feel like working on creative endeavors. Today was one of those days. My guess is that I’m still in recovery mode from these past few days of housework and remodeling and that’s why my brain doesn’t want to cooperate with me. Hell, I had to go to the chiropractor yesterday after lifting a whole bunch of heavy furniture. I had a shelf break because it carried a shit ton of CD’s. Dale wasn’t happy about that since he’s in no way a musical person. He doesn’t understand the beauty of David Draiman’s golden voice or Dimebag Darrell Abbot’s shredding guitars. All that aside, I was definitely in need of some recuperation. I’m a fragile introvert after all.

Even with all of this mental exhaustion working against me, I managed to only eat two meals and I got full after both of them. They weren’t even big meals, at least not compared to what I ate before. My afternoon snack consisted of three plums. My first official meal was at 5:00 at night and it was a baked potato with no toppings, a portion of spam, and a banana. At 8:45, I ordered a sandwich and breadsticks from Domino’s Pizza, both of which aren’t even close to being as fattening as a full pizza. I have no plans to end the night with more food.

I may have to spend some more time in recovery mode tomorrow and the next few days because that’s when my family and I are going to paint my bedroom walls light blue. We might do one or two walls one day and do the rest of it over the course of Monday and Tuesday. I won’t have to do a whole lot to disconnected my electronics since they’re all hooked up to a power strip. We’re not going to move out my furniture for the painting process; we’re just going to scoot it over a few feet. God, I love my wooden floors! I would have never been able to scoot things over on a dust-collecting carpet.

I hope all of my readers are doing okay considering what a wild and crazy October it has been. Halloween is coming up soon and for any metal heads who live near the Tacoma Dome, Five Finger Death Punch and Shinedown are going to perform there on November 5th with Sixx AM and As Lions opening for them. November is also National Novel Writing Month. Last year I completed the first drafts of my Poison Tongue Tales stories. This year I’m going to storm through all 17 remaining chapters of Demon Axe. I’m also going to use some of those days to compete in the WSS contests like I normally do.

We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

One of the best things about being in recovery mode is that I still have enough mental energy to pump out a drawing or two. Although to be honest, I’ve gotten a little bit rusty with my latest effort, a picture of Detective Shawn Henry from Demon Axe. I’ll do better next time when the time comes to draw Edge Spider, the drug dealing gangster from the Poison Tongue Tales 2 cyberpunk story The Audiomancer. One of the pieces of advice I constantly receive from Angie at the WSS is to write about villains who are sane-minded since they’re scarier than the wild and crazy ones. I hope I achieved that with Edge Spider.


***VIDEOGAME DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

MIKE HAGGAR: Hello? Mayor Haggar here.

DAMNED: Hehehe! Mr. Haggar, I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance. I believe you know who I am. Don’t hang up! We have an important business proposition for you: your daughter for your cooperation. Plus, we’ll throw in a monthly bonus to your salary.

MIKE HAGGAR: What?! What’s happened to Jessica?! Who is this?!

DAMNED: Not so fast, Mike. Turn on your TV.

MIKE HAGGAR: You son of a…what have you done with her?!

DAMNED: Nothing yet, but we’d enjoy the opportunity. Listen to reason, man. Why make your job difficult? Just let us do as we please like the mayor before you did! Agh-hahahahaha!!


-Final Fight-

Saturday, February 6, 2016

Bent To Fly

***BENT TO FLY***

The last journal entry had to do with song lyrics that resonated with me and this one will be no different except for the song in question. As I was at the YMCA doing my water-walking today, the Slash and Myles Kennedy song “Bent To Fly” came up on my waterproof MP3 player. Until today, I never paid close attention to what the lyrics really were. Now that I’m home and I’m reading the lyrics online, I realize just how powerful this song really is. Like the singer, I too had aspirations of living independently from my parents. Not because it would actually benefit me, but because society told me that that’s what success looks like. And then I started taking classes at WWU and living in a dormitory with three strangers. I’d never felt so alone in my life. No animals, no family, very few people who were permanent friends, I went to Bellingham and had nobody to turn to. Because of my loneliness and isolation at WWU, I was constantly depressed, bored, and in a negative state of mind. My family in Port Orchard has always been my go-to place for love and friendship whether it came from my parents, my brother, his girlfriend, their daughter, or my pets. I don’t live at home purely out of financial stability. I live there because my family loves me and I love them. When I listened to “Bent to Fly” today and paid closer attention to the lyrics, they hit me almost as hard as the lyrics to “In Perfect Harmony” by Within Temptation. Take a look.


VERSE 1
Mama, don't you cry
Don't you worry
I cannot stay here any longer
The time has come to find
A distant calling
That only seems to get much stronger
And I know it's hard
To see the one you come to lean on make his way
Far beyond the womb
But I can't stay

CHORUS
I won't stop running
I'm only getting closer
To getting off the ground this time
The sky is calling
The wind is at my shoulders
Won't let this chance pass me by
Mama, I'm bent to fly

VERSE 2
Remember yesterday
Before the storm
Before the innocence was lost
I promised I would stay
Forevermore
But every boy in time moves on
Your wounds will heal someday
This I know
But I am restless and so torn
Mama, I can't stay here anymore

HOOK
I can feel it coming
A perfect storm is rising
Gotta say my last goodbye


Who would’ve known that such sensitivity could come from two hard rock badasses like Slash and Myles Kennedy? We’ve got tears, say beers! Wait, that’s not how it goes.


***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: If you see a girl you like, just ask her if she wants to get some coffee with you.

ME: I don’t like coffee.

SUSAN: She might like coffee, you ass! What are you going to do, ask her out for some cheese and energy drinks?!

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Necrocosm

VERSE 1
We’ve got hot and heavy action all night long
We’ve got hard-hitting brawlers so fucking strong
We’ve got hulking ogres who lift shit with ease
We’ve got flying ninjas who float through the breeze
Yet no matter how hard they smash each other
You all bitch and whine like you want your mothers
You might as well be asleep or even clinically dead
There aren’t enough pillows for all of your heads


CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave


VERSE 2
The battered warriors are wondering what went wrong
Was the violence and mania just a little too damn strong?
Were the battle cries and political speeches too damn long?
Have you all had enough of this heavy metal song?
Too fucking bad, sit your asses in your comfy seats
Enjoy the fucking show and let us know your heart beats
The necrocosm is going out of business forever
Because zombies don’t give a shit about fiery weather


CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave


HOOK
You wasted your money for a ticket you didn’t want
Then you rant online in the biggest fucking word font
You bitch and whine like an entitled little baby brat
Still the bloody warriors slam each other to the mat


EXTENDED CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
A casket match is meant for the fighters only
Not for the bitchy fans so righteous and holy
The necrocosm doesn’t want your blood money
The necrocosm doesn’t think you’re fucking funny

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

"Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee



You know what the worst part is about having a boring life? You can run away from it for a little while. You can kick it in the Caribbean, you can mingle in Mexico, you can have fish and chips in the UK, but once the vacation is over, it’s back home to a boring life. It feels good to be home every time I come back from a sabbatical, but then the loneliness sets in and it’s back to the drawing board again. Although eating at Applebee’s isn’t considered a vacation, it was an escape from the boredom of home. And then when we were in the car, I had “Broken” by Seether and Amy Lee playing on my MP3 player to drive the point home, no pun intended.

This song was obviously recorded during a time in Shaun Morgan and Amy Lee’s lives when they were still a power couple. Two hard rock icons singing about how much they want to steal each other’s pain and how they’re broken when they’re lonesome. In other words, they couldn’t live without each other. And then one day in the mid 2000’s, they broke up in an ugly fashion and wrote hateful songs about each other. I’m not sure if Seether still plays “Broken” during their live sets, but I know it’s on their greatest hits album.

The reason “Broken” is so special to me is because it conveys the feeling of impending doom when it comes to my environment stealing my pain away. I can go to Canada as many times as I want, but in the end, I still have a slow-paced life here in Port Orchard, Washington. Sometimes a slow pace is a good thing, but it really becomes slow when the boredom keeps me from doing what I love the most: write my heart out. That’s when you know you have a boring life: you’re so bored that doing what you love isn’t what you feel like doing at all.

“Broken” also reminds me to find things to steal my pain more often so that I don’t have long gaps of boredom and sadness. That’s why it’s important to me to write Fireball Nightmare chapters as much as possible. And when I have writer’s block or I just plain don’t feel like writing my main prose, then I write an entry for Garrison’s Library or I write a journal for my Deviant Art account (my username is Garrison-Kelly and my avatar is the Jolly Green Giant (look me up)). And then there are times when reading a chapter of my book is enough to steal my pain. I’m currently reading “The Fault In Our Stars” by John Green and Augustus Waters is someone who could sing in the style of “Broken” and have it make sense.

I once had somebody tell me true happiness isn’t about the big things in life. It’s about finding little things and stringing them together to make a happy life. I’ve tried to follow that advice for so long and whenever I can’t, I turn to the music of Seether for comfort. One of these days, I’ll keep my stream of fun going into infinite. An occupied mind is a happy mind, which is something prisoners learn on their first day of incarceration. In a way, I feel like a prisoner of my own boredom. The pain theft would be the visitation rights that are granted to me by my friends and family. I can do this. I know I can.

 

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I don’t get hyped! I stay hyped!”

-Mojo Rawley-

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Burger King Dreams



Regardless of what city I’m visiting in my dreams, there always seems to be a Burger King right up the street. I wouldn’t even have to ask for a ride, I could just walk and that Triple Whopper with Cheese is as good as mine. There was even one dream where UFC fighter Chael Sonnen gave me a cut of his post-fight bonus to go eat at Burger King. He said it was the closest thing to socialism that I would ever get in my lifetime. Nice guy, huh? But let’s talk about this strange archetype for a moment. Why Burger King? Why not McDonald’s, Wendy’s, or Sonic? Could it have something to do with the fact that going to Burger King was a weekend ritual for me during high school? I’ve had lots of high school dreams, so Burger King might be the link I’m looking for. Every weekend during my junior and senior years of high school, my dad would give me a ten dollar bill and I would walk to Burger King to get a Triple Whopper with Cheese. This was obviously before I was eligible for social security, so I needed that ten dollars. When I was packing on weight in a big fucking hurry, he stopped giving me ten dollar bills. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because now that I’ve been receiving disability benefits since 2004, I spend most of my money on restaurants and convenience stores. That’s right, folks. My life is so lackluster that the only source of entertainment I have is chowing down on processed meats and cheeses. I take one bite of a greasy hamburger and all my depressive pain goes away. But once the meal is over, I have to find another fix and dinner won’t be for another few hours. Then what? It’s funny that I have all of these writing projects to do and all these books to read on my shelf, yet eating at a fast food restaurant is more fun than doing either of those two things. When someone asks me to read a book, I’m conveniently “mentally exhausted”. But when my step-father is going out for a grocery run and asks me if I need to stop anywhere, my mental energy suddenly comes back to me. In a way, cheap food has become my painkiller, which is funny, because when I started writing this blog entry, I was listening to “Painkiller” by Three Days Grace. But you know what else is a painkiller for me? Writing and reading. The feeling of accomplishment I get from both of those activities will last me for at least the rest of the day. The difference between creative activities and eating is that eating is readily available when I need it. Creativity takes more time. I’m not a patient man, so I choose fast food over writing and reading. This is obviously the wrong path to choose since I have a saggy tummy and big cheeks. But you know what? Until somebody provides me with a solution that’s more permanent than a pep talk, I’m going to keep going down this road. It’s sad and unfortunate, but this is who I am. Food has become a part of me in more ways than just eating it.

 

***DOMESTIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Garrison likes his books like he likes his food: fast and cheap.”

-Susan Wilson-

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

You Might Be Stereotyping Me

I did something on Deviant Art called The Mark Test, which was a Jeff Foxworthy-style routine to determine if the readers were pro-wrestling marks or not. And now here on Garrison’s Library, I’m going to do another Jeff Foxworthy-style routine for you. A lot of people don’t know if they’re stereotyping me or not. So I came up with a test to help them out. Things like…

If you think the main characters to all of my stories are Slovak-named barbarians who like to cut off people’s penises, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think the highlight of my day is stinking up the bathroom with the rotting meat in my intestines, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think I can afford the Taj Mahal on my social security budget, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think I should be embarrassed when I blow my nose or cough up snot in public, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think my family photo album has ball gags photoshopped in the subjects’ mouths, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think I get premature orgasms from watching Daniel Bryan’s wrestling matches, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think I’m dying of boredom and need to be rushed to the hospital, you might be stereotyping me.

If you think I pop my schizophrenic medication from a Pez dispenser, no, you’re not stereotyping me, but you might be the lead singer of Nickelback.

If you think I’m going to wear a diaper and handcuffs to my wedding, you might be stereotyping me.

If you’re a doctor who does my colonoscopy and write in your report that you had to pull two and a half feet of Chef Boyardee ravioli out of my intestines, you might be stereotyping me.

Thank you, everybody, goodnight!

 

***DOMESTIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Italians don’t eat Chef Boyardee, you fucking retard!”

-Susan Wilson-