Luigi vs. Rufus Buckley from A Time to Kill

 

McLean Wolf V Can't Fight

Sorry, ladies, gentlemen, and non-binaries: the road to hell is closed for repairs. So what do we do with all of these good intentions? We make a D&D character who has the best of them, but belly-flops at the thought of executing them. And thus we have a level one human mage created in the late 1990’s named McLean Wolf V. His name was so badass that there had to be five generations of those motherfuckers. Unfortunately, McLean was so bad at fighting that it was amazing there was one generation at all. Never mind abortion rights, because killing off the first generation would have been sufficient birth control for a fifth-generation character that turned out to be a drive-by abortion in the end. You see…how do I put this as delicately as McLean’s fragile bones? The man couldn’t fight worth a shit.

And it turns out, that’s how the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons rules designed mages to begin with. They start out with four hit points. Four! You know what that means? It means there isn’t a constitution modifier in hell that will keep him from dying from a fucking paper cut. Mages can’t wear heavy armor and they can’t use heavy weapons. McLean of course had neither of those things. He had a wizard’s robe, a knife, and a bola sling. That’s. About. It. You’d think with all of my experience playing Final Fantasy games I would have figured out a long time ago that wizard-type characters were going to be piss-poor fighters who couldn’t be self-sufficient if they tried. Tellah from Final Fantasy IV can throw all the lightning bolts he wants, but if an imp so much as pokes him with his short sword, he’s on the ground sucking his thumb like a bitch. In the very first Final Fantasy game, white mages and black mages are the first party members that monsters go after, because they’re more fragile than Lego sets. Ever wonder why bullies pick on smaller kids? Because if they picked on hulking body builders, the police would need the bullies’ dental records to identify them afterwards.

So…I’ve got McLean Wolf V ready to go for a campaign. What he lacks in fighting prowess, he makes up for in magic…provided that he studies his spells every fucking night like he’s cramming for the SAT’s. And once he exhausts his spells, he has to study them again…and again…for hours upon hours…Well, guess what, McLean? Your enemies aren’t going to give you hours and hours to prepare for them. If a barroom brawler wants to pound you into coffee grounds, he’s not going to wait for you to study your fireball spells. He’s going to beat the shit out of you weather you’re ready or not. Schoolyard bullies don’t wait for their victims to complete karate training. Terrorists don’t wait for their victims to learn how to use firearms. Nobody’s going to wait for McLean to get his nose out of his books. In fact, forget the footman’s mace, you could just take his Stephen King-sized doorstop and beat him to death with it. It would only take one hit and he’d go from lying on the ground to lying IN the ground.

And because McLean couldn’t do a damn thing on his own, my brother invited his friends Nathan and Chris to come play with us. They could wield all the battleaxes and long swords they wanted to. I, on the other hand, had to throw fireballs, lightning bolts, and magic missiles like they were substitutes for a gatling gun. And if you ever needed an indication of how forgetful of a memoirist I am (which is a lot like being a mage who can’t fight), I don’t even remember what quest we were doing or why we banded together. All I knew was that midway through the game, I wanted to tear up my character sheet and never see McLean Wolf V ever again. James, my DM brother, wasn’t having any of that nonsense. He said that if I did that, he would make my eighth level paladin Charles Goodhorn die of natural causes…even though he was only twenty-five years old. He’s not even old enough to use his bastard sword as a walking cane and already my brother wants to hold him hostage so that I’ll keep playing as a mage made of glass. I guess he was trying to motivate me to try new things since I was so accustomed to playing warrior characters. Either that or it was the 1990’s and we were constantly at each other’s throats due to the inevitability of problematic brotherhoods.

Well…the campaign continued and Chris, Nathan, and I found ourselves in the middle of a cleared forest getting our shit pushed in by orcs and goblins. Chris and Nathan’s warrior characters slashed and hacked their way through the frontlines while I was in the background preparing for a spell. This was my chance to save their lives and prove myself as a wizard. The orcs and goblins became too much to handle due to their swelling forces. Even with the heaviest equipment, Chris and Nathan couldn’t fight them all without getting swarmed. So…McLean conjured a massive fireball and rolled it onto the battlefield like a bowling ball on a snowy mountain instead of a proper bowling alley. The analogy was appropriate since the fireball indeed got bigger and bigger as it rolled along. The screams of goblins and orcs burning alive was like a Baroque symphony of beautiful music. Then came the magic missiles to take out the stragglers. And the lighting bolts to make the battlefield crispier than a bucket of KFC, though not as tasty, but probably greasy considering the monsters we were dealing with. And just like that, the battle was over and I was the hero of the day. My opinion of fragile mages hasn’t changed, but I had more fun playing them as I got older. Truth is, they’re better in groups than on their own, not unlike D&D itself. Tellah lived as long as he did because the dark knight turned paladin named Cecil protected him. Black mages are always accompanied by hulking fighters turned knights and thieves turned ninjas.

Teamwork is the name of the game. But the D&D party that wins together serves prison sentences together. It wouldn’t be a James Haines-Temons D&D campaign if it didn’t involve incarceration of some kind. At this point, we should change the name of the game from D&D to Shawshank Redemption. While none of our characters had rock hammers to dig us out or posters of Raquel Welch to cover up our schemes, McLean was allowed to keep his books. Prison libraries are a thing, not unlike The Shawshank Redemption. But why in the hell would you allow a wizard capable of throwing avalanche fireballs to have access to books? That’s his source of power! You wouldn’t give Chris and Nathan their weapons and armor, so don’t give McLean Wolf his books! Nothing made sense in the 1990’s, but this should have been glaringly obvious. I guess we’ll never know if McLean torched the whole fucking prison, because that’s where the campaign ended for the day. We never did continue it. Bummer.

I’m not against the idea of wizards in my fantasy settings. They’re aesthetically pleasing, after all, and that’s why I enjoy fantasy so much. I could have a necromancer with skulls everywhere and poison mist surrounding him. I could have a pyromancer with fiery staves and spiky red hair that resembled his flames. I could have a sorceress who wore fancy black dresses into battle and could turn the skirts of them into circular blades while she twirls in a dance. The possibilities are as endless as my imagination. But as far as playing videogames and tabletop RPG’s goes, maybe it’s best if my wizards were accompanied by other characters. Every party has a role that needs to be filled. As much as I love the idea of an all-barbarian squad, who’s going to heal them when there’s no cleric and they get their shit pushed in after being exhausted from rage? What about an all-thief party? Who’s going to protect them without a wizard’s magic spells if they get caught? Like life itself, there’s something for everybody in this world. Nobody can do everything, but everybody can do something. A wizard can’t carry the load by himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t need a chiropractor at this point, but an embalmer.

Johnny Glass's Underage Beer Run

 An elven thief named Johnny Glass walks into a bar. The bartender looks up at him and says, “Can I see your ID?” Sorry if you were expecting a cliché bar joke. To be honest, I was expecting one too when I played a lone session of Dungeons & Dragons with my brother James in Pennsylvania in 1999. What was I doing in Linesville, Pennsylvania at the time? A whole lot of fuck-all, that’s what. To be fair, that’s all there is to do in the super rural town of Linesville. Everything was so far away from my Aunt Ruth’s farm that finding entertainment was damn near impossible. So James and I had to create our own. Dungeons & Dragons was our escape from a place that couldn’t be escaped.

But what about the medieval town that Johnny Glass was a citizen of? Did that have a lot going on in the way of kicks and thrills? The closest thing to that answer was getting plastered at the bar. Or smoking a burned out cigarette until he had extra crispy Kentucky Fried Lungs, that could be done in a bar too. But let’s go back to the point where the bouncer (not the bartender) asks to see Johnny’s ID. It seems like a standard practice for any bar, but there’s actually a lot to unpack here. First of all, Johnny was an elf and the typical age for elves in a game of D&D is somewhere in the fifties and sixties. They’re an immortal race that doesn’t pass away from old age, but goes into isolation when they do. It’s like 2020, but forever. If an elf looks like he’s fifty or sixty, why would anyone question his maturity when it comes to chugging a stein of beer? The only reason I can think of is that the mostly human town holds a deep-seated bigotry against the elven race.

And while we’re on the topic of anti-elf racism, if I had the storytelling abilities back then that I do now, there might actually be a plausible reason why an elf would have an ordinary human name like Johnny Glass. Maybe where he’s from, his culture was suppressed by the conquering humans, so all the Legolases and Grimlords became Johnnies and Jackies. Names say a lot about a person’s cultural background. So when you see an ethnic minority with an ordinary white guy name, you know some ordinary white guys had major influence over the conquest. There’s a whole story right there! But alas, the only reason I chose the name Johnny Glass for my character was because it was convenient and it was all I could think of at the time. Little did I know or care that everything has a back story if you look hard enough.

Getting back to the ID check at the bar, how exactly is Johnny Glass supposed to produce a document that didn’t even exist in medieval times? The only way an ID would ever work is if photography was invented. That’s the whole point of it: to put a face with the name. There’s no photography in D&D. So what was Johnny supposed to show the bouncer? A painting? A magical seal? A doodle? Oh, god help him if he gets a doodle. The artist might actually make him look like a caricature goofball if racism was the true reason for this campaign. Maybe he’d draw Johnny with a massive nose, Dumbo ears, and a saggy belly, which is not only humiliating on its own, but it wouldn’t grant him access anywhere since that’s not what he looked like. He looked like any other elf: pointy ears, light green skin, blond locks, and a skinny build. He looked like any other elf because with a name like Johnny Glass, that’s what he truly was under the thumb of the dominant humans.

Naturally, Johnny didn’t have any ID papers on him, then again, who did since photography doesn’t exist yet?! The humans never had their ID’s checked, but Johnny did. And because he entered a bar where his age was questioned over and over again, he broke the law. Thieves breaking the law isn’t anything new, but at least said thieves stay hidden in the shadows when they commit their crimes. Not Johnny. He walked into a bar a (somewhat) free elf, came out with his hands and feet shackled by law enforcement. Johnny served himself on a silver platter to the racist humans. Not a good way to start a D&D campaign as a stealthy thief.

But don’t worry! Surely a trickster like him could slip out of prison and never be found again, right? Well, there’s a lot to unpack in that department as well. First of all, this was my first time ever playing a thief. Beforehand, I played loads of fighters, one paladin, and one wizard. I had more fun being a fighter and a paladin than any other class, because I could actually defend myself in a brawl and look badass doing it. If a wizard doesn’t have his spells studied and ready to go, he’s fucked since he can’t wear heavy armor or wield heavy weapons. Plus, wizards naturally have a low amount of hit points. Unless the goal was to try something new and exciting, why would I ever want to play a thief? If I ever got caught, I couldn’t defend myself against knights with gigantic battleaxes and claymores bigger than their bodies. Backstab wouldn’t do me any good, because that only works if I’m undetected.

But here I am in a prison cell with no chance of parole. No fair trial, either. Democracy and photography had a lot in common in D&D: they didn’t exist. The prison guards told Johnny they were going to lock him up for life. But that turned out to be a joke that Johnny would never laugh at in a million years (or however long elves lived). He instead was sentenced to five years. He could do five years standing on his head, given his elven immortality. But why would he want to unless he had an escape plan? You think I would have learned one by now given that my brother loved locking my characters in prison and using that as the main storyline. He did this a lot. I never got away once, but he still insisted on doing prison campaigns. Would Johnny Glass be the one to finally break the curse? Well…not exactly.

There he was shackled to the wall of his own eight-by-ten cell. In case the shackles weren’t enough, the prison cell had a barred door and there were guards on the other side of the cell block. It was time for Johnny to show what a master thief was all about…or at least until he failed a roll to pick the locks on his shackles. Then he failed a strength check. Then he failed a dexterity check. Then he failed pretty much every other roll in his arsenal. I can’t remember how exactly Johnny got out of his cell, but that just goes to show how unprepared I was for life as a thief. What to do next? Well, in order to simulate the idea of thinking fast, James, my DM brother, gave me only enough time until his fist dropped to his lap. Because I freaked out and couldn’t think of anything on time, the guards came through the door and threw me back in my cell before shackling me to the wall again. And then Johnny Glass was back to square one.

So I rolled a lock pick check and failed. I rolled a strength check and failed. I rolled a dexterity check and failed. Whatever rolling tactic I used to try to break free, it failed. And then…James mercifully pulled a Deus Ex Machina out of his ass. There just so happened to be another thief in the cell with me. He asked, “Do you want to get out?” I said yes, so he unshackled me and opened my door. That was it. I was a free man. All I had to do was wander down an underground maze and my freedom would be solidified. One drawback to all of this is that I got no experience points for what I went through. I figured I wouldn’t get them anyways since I wasn’t involved in any fights. But that’s not how thieves gain experience points. Fighters get them through fighting. Wizards get them through casting spells. Thieves get them by being sneaky as fuck. I don’t know how I would have gotten those points since I failed all of my rolls.

I wouldn’t get the answer until a few years later when James put me in another prison campaign, this time with a different character. He was shackled to the wall. His cell door was locked. There was a loony tune in the room with him who wet himself. The piss was traveling like a river toward my general vicinity. So what did I do? James gave me advice this time: use my surroundings to my advantage. There was a pile of stones next to where I was sitting. I smashed the stones against the shackles and evaded the slow-moving piss trail. That was somewhat satisfying. But I have to ask: wouldn’t the builders of this prison have foreseen this happening? What exactly is a pile of rocks doing next to shackled prisoners? That to me is even more of a Deus Ex Machina scenario than Johnny Glass being let out by a cell mate he never knew he had.

So…what can be learned from this experience now that I’m a storytelling adult? First of all, I should probably ask the DM what my surroundings look like so that I’m more aware of what the fuck’s going on. It feels like such a minor detail to ask for, but authors have to do this too when describing an unfamiliar setting. They don’t want to describe too much, but just enough of the relevant parts to create visuals in the reader’s mind. Okay, so Johnny Glass can’t pick his way out of prison. What else can he do? Provided there are no stones this time, he could hoot and holler until a guard paid attention to him. Then he can hide in the shadows to make the guard think he’s gone. When the guard investigates, Johnny could spring on him and strangle him with the shackles. He grabs the key and frees himself. Wah-lah!

There are lots of ways in which a thief can be clever. There are lots of ways in which a player can be just as much of a storyteller as the DM. The biggest lesson above all else…be prepared for the role you’re playing! Study your characters! Refine them! Develop them! Give your elven thief a reason for being called Johnny fucking Glass! Maybe it’s not racism from humans, but racism from within. Maybe he’s the Candace Owens of elven lore. Or maybe he just wants to blend in, like a forty-year-old woman named Karen. The more you know about your characters, the more solutions you can come up with for their problems. I wish I would have invested this much time into developing characters for my first draft novels. Fixing them would have been a hell of a lot easier! Thank you, Johnny Glass, for opening my eyes. You can open yours too since the bartender wouldn’t let you have that beer after all.

RPG Memoirs: Fiction or Nonfiction?

So…I’m at a little bit of a crossroads here when it comes to my nonfiction. Many months ago, I wrote a memoir about a D&D campaign I did with my brother in 2003 where I was a bounty hunter named Regal (it went about as well as you’d imagine, haha!). Ever since then, I’ve wondered if I should do those kinds of memoirs in the future. A small little voice told me that if I’m going to do them, why not just write them as fictional stories instead of memoirs? There’ll be more opportunities for showing instead of telling and it’ll feel like a real story. But given how some of those role-plays panned out, they wouldn’t make for very good stories on their own. Under a nonfiction microscope, I can analyze what went wrong and why. That’s basically the point of these memoirs: to show how much my storytelling skills and I have changed since those days. They can either be cautionary tales or legitimate master classes. What do you guys think? Are these kinds of stories better served as fiction or nonfiction?

The Thunder Eagles

***THE THUNDER EAGLES***

How about we take a break from the high school drama known as Silent Warrior so that I can tell you a little story about my childhood. I promise you we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program after these messages. Although, chapter thirteen will contain graphic sexual content, so if you want to look for it when it’s up, go to Wattpad. Until the day I write that chapter, you’re getting a story from my past.

In spite of the fact that I was raised on WWF, WCW, and ECW, I didn’t have much love for sports or exercise of any kind growing up. I’m paying for it now that I’m north of three hundred pounds, but even back when I was a skinny little string bean, athletic competition was hard for me. I’d gas out after the first few minutes. Imagine this kind of negative attitude applied to elementary school-level soccer.

In the early to mid-90’s, I lived in Elk Grove, California and achieved success in my third, fourth, and fifth grade academics. Athletic achievements? Not so much. My parents signed me and my brother James up for soccer, albeit different teams. James’s team, the Laguna Lasers, was successful and happy to be so. My team, The Thunder Eagles (not to be confused with the Thunderbirds), were an intergalactic disaster. We only won two games out of god knows how many and one of those two games was against a team of children who were much younger and smaller than us. For all of you wrestling nerds out there, it’s basically Bone Soldier beating the shit out of James Ellsworth.

As a child, I’ve always been a sore loser no matter what the game was. When I brother beat me at Connect Four, I threw a hissyfit like no other. When I played Hero Quest and my barbarian was killed, I threw game pieces across the living room in frustration. When the Thunder Eagles lost over and over again, I wanted to beat something up. It didn’t help matters that I was always getting knocked down (accidentally) or hit with the ball (accidentally) by the other players. Whenever one of them would hit me, I’d chase after them and throw hammer fists until I was benched for the rest of the game. And then when both of our teams formed lines to high five each other, I withdrew my hand. Hell, as angry as I was, I might as well have flipped them off instead. Vinny Jones would be so proud of me.

It also didn’t help matters that my own teammates were conspiring against me most of the time. I remember during practice how they would play keep away with a soccer ball I brought myself. I never could get the ball back from them, but every time someone kicked it away, I’d either shove them to the ground or kick them in the legs. I also remember a time when a fellow teammate named Jorge kept bouncing the ball off my legs, so I ran up to him, kicked him in the asshole, and made him cry. I’d later recall these stories as an adult to James, who kept asking me why I took everything so personally back then. I’d jokingly respond with, “They tried to kill me!”

If I had been an adult and committed these violent and vengeful acts against other players, I’d probably be in jail right now. But as a kid, you can get away with pretty much anything and the worst you’ll get is detention or a suspension (which is really just a nice vacation away from the stresses of school). In the case of soccer, my mom bribed me with a trip to McDonald’s after each game on the condition that I didn’t clobber anybody who accidentally bumped me down. One particular game, I got smacked in the thigh with the ball and it stung like hell. But instead of beating the shit out of another kid, I cried my eyes out. Needless to say, I earned my Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese that day.

The lesson I learned from all of this soccer immersion was that if at first you don’t succeed, cry and cry again. As I said before, the Thunder Eagles lost every game except for two. Plus, I was getting sick and tired of being smashed around and gassing out after only a few seconds of activity. While my brother James continues to enjoy an athletic lifestyle, I’ve resigned myself to a life of videogames and have remained injury free since then. That reminds me of another lesson I learned from soccer: if you get hit in what’s supposed to be a no-contact sport, the admins might as well make it as violent as possible. I would have loved to bring steel chairs and kendo sticks onto the soccer field with me, maybe even a barbed wire bat. Extreme Championship Soccer! ECS! ECS! ECS! ECS!

I’d like to think that this is why I continue to watch wrestling and MMA as an adult: because violent sports don’t try to hide behind the façade of being safe and conscientious about self-esteem. I guess football could be considered violent because of all the concussions the players get, but I have yet to see any of them whip out some martial arts moves on the gridiron, so football doesn’t count in the end. And now that we’re on the topic of violent sports, when, oh when are the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards going to come out already?! That Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award is ripe for the picking this year! Come on, Meltzer! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ll hypnotize you like a vampire. Bite your neck and set your head on fire. Shoot me with silver bullets, okay. I’ll pull ‘em out, pawn ‘em, and get paid!”

-Violent J from Insane Clown Posse rapping “Bring It On”-

Brandi

Adele Faulk stared at the sparkling engagement ring on her finger with a cheerful smile on her already lovely face. The diamond itself radiated beauty like a heavenly star, but it was the man who gave her that ring who was worth showing off the most. She gripped the steering wheel of her parked car and took deep breaths to calm her nerves of excitement. She couldn’t wait to tell her younger brother Dustin the news, but was afraid that she’d come off too strong. “Poor Dustin,” she said to herself in a peaceful whisper.

The chocolate-haired lady in the sparkling silver cocktail dress exited the vehicle and clicked her high heels against Dustin’s sidewalk. His home was a lot smaller than she had remembered. Had he been falling on tough times? Adele’s lipstick-covered mouth formed a frown out of fear that she would be rubbing her success in Dustin’s face. She contemplated getting back in the car and driving home to her fiancé. No! She had to tell him without resorting to the Face Book copout.

Adele knocked on Dustin’s door and he said, “Come in!” Upon treading through the threshold, Adele’s concerned frown morphed into wide-eyed shock when she saw her pot-bellied brother sitting on the couch next to a blond sex puppet in lingerie. “What’s up, big sis?” said Dustin before taking a sip of beer and changing the channel on the TV with his remote.

“Um…” shrugged Adele. “Not a whole lot compared to you. You do know that’s a sex doll, right?”

“Brandi doesn’t like to be called that,” snapped Dustin as he stroked the doll’s hair.

Hands on her hips, Adele smirked, shook her head, and said, “Seriously, Dustin? Her name’s Brandi? You’ve actually given this sex toy a name?” The brother scratched his nuts and burped. “Jesus, Dustin…I, uh…I have no words. Not one fucking word.”

“You don’t have to say anything at all, Adele,” said Dustin right as he kissed “Brandi” on the cheek. “I already know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’ve gone off the deep end and I need to be locked up in a fucking rubber room. I get it. Truth be told, I’ve never been happier in my life. Look at her, Adele. She doesn’t judge. She doesn’t care that I gained a little weight. She doesn’t care that my hair’s a little thin. She likes me for who I am and that’s good enough for me.”

“You know what else doesn’t judge you for your looks or your income?” asked Adele. “That floor lamp over there. Maybe you should start a relationship with that and stick it up your ass during those romantic moments.” Dustin protested with several silent shut up’s, but Adele continued her rant with, “Maybe you should start a relationship with the TV and keep it on porn channels all the time. Maybe you should mount your coffee table and fondle its legs. Two legs are sexy enough, but four? Holy shit, buddy!”

Dustin’s murmuring retorts transformed into one monstrous, “Shut up!” that silenced his big sister’s mockery. “Typical big sister bullshit, Adele. You’ve been doing this shit to me ever since we were kids! I never had a date to the prom! I never had a date at all except with my right hand! You’re actually surprised by this shit?! If you’re going to call me a loser, just get it over with already and don’t make me wait!”

“You’re not a loser, Dustin,” said Adele with a soft inflection. “It’s just that…I know you’re upset about what happened to Dana. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself either if my fiancé committed su…I mean…boyfriend…I mean…”

“Fiance, huh?” asked Dustin with a sarcastic grin. He blew out some air and said, “I’ll bet you anything that’s what you came here tell me. Not that you’re checking on your baby brother, but to show off that stupid fucking ring on your finger. Good for you, Adele. I could have just as easily found out on Face Book, but you had to come here and rub it in. Well, I’ll be sure to extend the same courtesy when I eventually put a ring on Brandi’s finger.”

“She’s not a real woman!” shouted Adele. She marched over to her younger brother and ripped the TV remote out of his hand before clicking off the tube. “We need to have a serious conversation about this…thing on the couch! It’s not healthy, Dustin! What if someone else sees you with…Brandi and makes fun of you for it? Maybe you’ll bring her along to one of your office Christmas parties! That’ll be a big hit! Goddamn, I want to rip that doll’s head off right fucking now!”

Dustin shot up from his seat and barked, “Oh yeah? And what’s the alternative to this, huh? What am I supposed to do after I abandon my girlfriend? Go on some loser dating site and have shallow conversations with someone who doesn’t give a shit? Is that what finding love is all about? Hell, you know something about that! Why don’t you tell me what the fucking answer is!”

Tears streamed down Adele’s face and smudged her makeup and mascara. “Goddamn it, Dustin,” she sobbed as she wiped away her sorrowful liquids. “You need real love. You need a real woman. You’re better than this! You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known! And now you’re going to give up and parade this doll around as your girlfriend?”

Dustin shook his head and said, “I didn’t have the strength to save Dana and I don’t have the strength for a so-called real woman. If you can’t understand that, Adele, then I think you need to leave. Congratulations on your engagement, sis. I’m sorry I don’t care enough about it.” He plopped down on the couch and spooned with Brandi some more.

Adele’s weary eyes glared into Brandi’s lifeless features. The big sister clenched her fists so tightly that her manicured fingernails left indents in her palm. She even felt a trickle of blood and didn’t give two shits about it. “I hate this thing,” she whispered angrily. “I fucking hate you, Brandi! You’re ruining my brother’s life!” In one swift motion, she ripped the face off the doll while her brother shouted a prolonged, “No!”

Tears continued to melt Adele’s makeup-covered face into a modern art masterpiece when she saw what was underneath the doll. If she thought the doll was lifeless before, her last shreds of doubt were erased upon seeing a degenerated skull with shreds of skin and green gums. “Dustin,” she whimpered. “Why? This isn’t you. This isn’t my baby brother! You’re not a murderer!”

Dustin stood back up and assumed a coldhearted look on his face while staring down at his crouched sister. “You’re right, Adele. I’m not a murderer. You are. First you take Dana away from me and now you take Brandi. Who’s next on your hit list? Hmm? Maybe I’ll go to a strip joint and bring you some more victims, even though not one of those plastic women is good enough for me!”

“You’re crazy!” Adele sobbed. “You’re fucking crazy, Dustin!”

Dustin formed a savage smile, shook his head, and said, “Not nearly as crazy as the woman who ruined blowjob night just so she could show off her fucking engagement ring!” Adele’s tearful statements came out as unintelligible word salad while Dustin kneeled before his sister and said, “Now that I think about it, big sis…blowjob night is just beginning!”

Adele’s breathing grew frantic and heavy as she shouted, “I’m your sister, Dustin! That’s disgusting!”

“You’re the only woman left who’ll ever love me after this,” said Dustin while stroking Adele’s locks. “I’ll be Luke Skywalker…and you can be Princess Leia. Who knows? Maybe you can pawn that engagement ring and buy yourself a nice shiny golden bikini!”

Dustin leaned in slowly to give his sister a kiss only to have her bite his nose and draw blood. His shrilling screams caused Adele to crab walk backwards in fear. For a moment she laid frozen on the ground while her brother used his Nickelback T-shirt to soak up the blood. “You fucking bitch!” he angrily whispered. “I deserve love. I deserve the best! Who do you think you are taking it away from me, you ignorant cow?!”

Adele kicked off her high heels, shot up from the floor, and screamed heavily as she bolted towards the door, Dustin in hot pursuit. In her amazement at Brandi, she forgot to close the door when she entered the house, which meant she was free to swing it open during this chase. Once she dashed outside to the cool night air, Dustin tried to grab her by the dress, but ripped off the backside and exposed her purple panties instead.

“Help! Help!” Adele shouted through her tears. Her breathing hastened and intensified as she sped closer to the driver’s seat of her car. She felt as though she was going to have a heart attack once she opened the door and took a seat. She hit the auto-lock on her doors just in time for Dustin to pound on her windows demanding she open them. Adele fiddled with the key while trying to stick it in the ignition. The more the key scraped against the hole, the louder Dustin’s pounds became.

Adele let out a shriek of horror when Dustin punched out her passenger window and grabbed her shoulder with his bloody arm. The tearful screams and her exploding heart gave her enough of an adrenaline boost to stick the key in the ignition and start the car. Dustin’s grip strengthened upon hearing the engine roar and even more so when Adele slammed her foot on the gas and sped down the street. Her brother flapped and floated in the air while maintaining a bruising grip around Adele’s neck. His fingernails dug into her flesh and all she could do was scream and drive recklessly some more.

The blood in Adele’s neck made Dustin’s grip slippery enough to scrape his nails across her flesh and fly across the street into a telephone pole. The sister’s rapid breathing and crying slowed down little by little when she slammed on the brakes and peered into the rearview mirror to see Dustin clutching his cracked ribs. With his body mangled almost as badly as the corpse on his couch, Dustin was no threat to anybody.

“I’m sorry, Dustin,” Adele whispered while trying to steady her intense breathing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” Knowing the threat was diminished, Adele rested her head on the steering wheel and allowed her flooding tears to soak the carpet beneath her. She didn’t even tend to the dripping blood from her neck.

Her eyes dripped at a much more violent rate knowing she lost her brother long before he cracked his ribs against a wooden pole. What would she tell her fiancé? What would she tell mom and dad? Nothing yet, because the word salad poured from her mouth as she tried fruitlessly to calm her nerves. She could spend forever this way if she wanted to. It wasn’t a bad idea at the time.

"Cyborgs and Sorcery" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Cyborgs and Sorcery

AUTHOR: Marie Krepps

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fictional Short Stories

SUBGENRES: Sci-Fi and Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

A downtrodden cyborg must find four sacred items in order to restore peace to the warring kingdoms in which she lives. A warrior and her falcon companion must stick together in order to survive being hunted a clan of monstrous wizards. A treasure hunter struggles to remain calm as her crow companion keeps running his mouth in the middle of a search. A security guard’s family prepares a huge dinner celebration for him knowing it could be the last time they see him. Four tales of intense drama, cybernetic awesomeness, and mystical wisdom have been unleashed onto the world by the always prolific Marie Krepps. She proves once again that even the shortest of stories can pack the biggest punch.

Of all the stories in this collection, my favorite would have to be Mason’s Promise a.k.a. the one about the warrior and her falcon friend. The kinship between Celeste (the warrior) and Mason (the falcon) is as realistic as it is captivating. They have their arguments every now and then, but in the end, they always have each other’s backs. If a story is going to be called Mason’s Promise, you’d better believe there’s going to be some heavy trust and familial bonding. While I won’t spoil the ending, I will say that it’ll hurt worse than a falcon claw ripping your heart out. It hurts because Marie Krepps makes you care about these characters. Her stories have always been a vicarious experience for any reader, but this one exemplifies it the most.

I’ve always praised Marie’s abilities to show instead of tell and this short story collection will be no different. I’ve already mentioned how much of a heart-wrenching story Mason’s Promise is. But what about the others? What about Four Items (take a wild guess which one this is)? A cyborg’s quest to find her own humanity is always compelling since there are some humans in the real world who have the same struggle. Welcome Home, Brother has an ending that nobody will see coming, but when it hits you, it hits like a wrecking ball to the gut. Red Stone will be a huge deal for millennials due to the wonderfully placed reference of a certain 1980’s cartoon about vehicles that change into giant robots. Come to think of it, there isn’t a single bad story in this collection. There’s something in it for everybody even if sci-fi and fantasy aren’t your go-to genres.

One more strength I would like to point out is that Cyborgs and Sorcery is, and I’m not completely sure on this number, the sixteenth book published by Marie Krepps (if you’re counting stories she published under her real name of Ashley Uzzell). No matter what the number actually ends up being, this latest addition to her personal library shows that she has longevity in her career as an author. She is durable when it comes to writing long novels and she sneaks in a few short jabs with her collections. And the best part about her having this much mileage? She’s still a young adult who has a bright future ahead of her. If she continues to write wonderful stories like these, she won’t have to worry about the future ever again.

If you’re looking for awesomely-written short stories that will keep you entertained throughout this rollercoaster of a ride, look no further than Cyborgs and Sorcery. Yes, it will feel like it’s over too soon, but that’s the beauty of Marie Krepps stories: there will always be more because she’s the iron woman of Generation Y. No matter what book of hers you decide to pick up, she will never disappoint and she will earn your respect from the very first line. Excellent work, Marie! How does a passing grade sound to you?

"Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow
AUTHOR: Marie Krepps
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Vampire Erotica
GRADE: Extra Credit


Alexus suffers from acute depression after living a life full of abuse and heartache. Her father and her older brothers Thomas and Brian were the worst offenders when it came to Alexus’ abuse. They tried to control every aspect of her life, tried to make her conform and fall in line. And now she wants to kill herself. She doesn’t know how until she meets a vampire named Artus who could easily bite her neck and drain her dry. Things take a much different direction when Artus can’t bring himself to kill Alexus. Instead, the two of them make love together and become that much closer to becoming a couple.

If you’re familiar with Ms. Krepps’ works, you know how much of a master she is at creating sex scenes. These scenes aren’t a bunch of bullshit from porn magazines or even Fifty Shades of Grey. These are real, love-making, penis-hardening, and vagina-wetting sex scenes. It’s more than just being on top and getting it over with. The variation in sexual acts keeps the love-making fresh in the mind of the reader. These two vampires can make every reader’s fantasies come to life with just their lust for each other. With that said, you might want to keep a box of tissues next to your e-reader for this one. You never know when Mt. St. Helen might erupt or how much of a mess it’ll create when it does.

The vampire logic is another thing Marie Krepps is passionate about. Every last detail having to do with vampires is planned out and well-researched. Everybody knows that vampires burn when they’re exposed to sunlight. But did you know that a vampire’s bite can actually feel like heaven despite the sharp fangs? It can also feel like you’re getting your body turned inside out if you piss off said vampire. And if you think you’re going to get in a slugfest with a vampire and live to tell about it, you’re bat shit crazy. Bottom line: even though this is a vampire story, everything in this book is believable. You actually want to get behind these characters because the author is holding a mirror up to society in the guise of fiction.

But then you have the primary reason why this book earned an Extra Credit (five-star) rating. At the beginning of the book, Marie Krepps dedicates the novel to everybody who has suffered from a mental illness. The struggles that Alexus faces as a depression victim are very real and make the story sound somewhat autobiographical. I know this because I’ve had my fair share of shitty people in my life and they all brought me into a darkened state in one way or another. Nobody takes as much abuse as Alexus has and comes out smelling like roses. Suicide is not selfish by any means. It’s what the mentally ill consider when they see no other solution to their demons. But when you finally see that glimmer of hope, suicide will seem irrational at that point. Let us all come together and be each other’s glimmer of hope. The world will be a better place for it.

Reading Marie Krepps’ writing gives me a newfound respect for her with every passing piece of literature. She shows new wrinkles to her game and is easily coached when it comes to taking advice from other writers. My friendship with her isn’t the biggest reason why she gets five stars. Her writing was what earned her the respect she so deserves. In spite of having a day job, four daughters, a husband, cats, and a mind full of demons, she actually finds time to write such beautiful stories and poems. The next time someone cracks a joke about millennials being lazy, be sure to give that person a kick in the groin. Marie Krepps is far from lazy. She’s the hardest worker in the writing business today.

"January First" by Michael Schofield

BOOK TITLE: January First: A Child’s Descent into Madness and Her Father’s Struggle to Save Her
AUTHOR: Michael Schofield
YEAR: 2012
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Schizophrenia Memoir
GRADE: Extra Credit


In this tear-jerking memoir, Michael Schofield describes what life is like raising his schizophrenic daughter Jani, who was officially diagnosed with an acute version of the disease as a six-year-old. As a result of her psychosis, Jani would burst into violent tantrums where she would punch, kick, and head butt anybody who suggested that her hallucinations were fake. She has assaulted her own parents, her teachers, her nurses, and even her baby brother Bodhi and her dog Honey. Jani is highly resistant to any medication she is given as well as the harsh discipline her father tries to enforce. The violence, the sleepless nights, stressful days, and constantly playing the role of gatekeeper has psychologically exhausted both Mr. and Mrs. Schofield. And through it all, they learn to be strong and come together as a family.

As someone who teaches college-level writing classes, Michael Schofield has a tight command over the art of literature. His pacing is quick, his ability to show instead of tell is present, his innermost thoughts are compelling, and he does all of this with a no-BS style of writing. He doesn’t try to employ an overly flowery style of writing with poetic descriptions an incomprehensible words. He’s a no-nonsense, no cheap gimmick writer, which is probably why this book is a fast read to begin with. The pacing has to be fast because trying to control an unstable child like Jani is a fast paced business to begin with. It’s exciting, but at the same time it’s emotionally taxing because of the heartache the family goes through.

Speaking of emotionally taxing writing, I’m going to get straight to the point when it comes to this memoir’s extra credit (five-star) rating. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was only 17 years old. As a mentally ill person, I recognize a lot of the frustrations the parents and their child Jani have to go through. To see such a small, beautiful, intelligent child descend into darkness is devastating to me. Michael Schofield expressed these tearful thoughts in such a way that I was almost driven to tears myself. January deserves nothing but a bright future and just when it looks like nobody can help her, her parents keep on fighting for her despite having empty tanks. I haven’t cried since the year 2007, but came very close to doing so several times while reading this heartbreaking book.

And then you have Mr. Schofield’s criticisms of the hospitals that did a minimal job of trying to help January, which I believe to be accurate. Before eventually taking January to UCLA and getting the schizophrenia diagnosis, the Schofield family had to deal with uncaring nurses, incompetent doctors, predatory insurance companies, and none of those same people having a damn clue what the hell is going on with this child. If I had to deal with that much of a lackadaisical approach to medicine, I’d be pissed off and in tears too, just like the author was. The events of this book took place before Obamacare became the law of the land. But even after such a historic law was passed, we still have a lot of work to do when it comes to hospital reform. If you don’t believe me, read this book.

This book spoke to me in a way that no other text about schizophrenia could. I was actually able to feel the struggles that the Schofield family went through, not just as a schizophrenic myself, but also as a human being. But some people will never admit to that, because there’s all this buzz going on about how Michael was abusive to his wife and children because of his hot temper. To those people who falsely slander Michael that way, I have only one thing to tell them: you show me a parent who isn’t going berserk after fighting for a mentally ill child and I’ll show you an abusive parent. Until then, keep your one-star ratings and your judgments to yourself.

Weird Ass Dreams

***WEIRD ASS DREAMS***

I don’t often talk about my dreams anymore, but since I’m desperate for journal topics and it’s past the three day limit, I think this needs to be said. Last night, I had two of the weirdest dreams I could possibly have. The first one was just plain weird while the second one could be considered a nightmare. You don’t have to worry about me being traumatized or anything like that. But if I don’t share these dreams with you guys, I feel like it’ll be all for nothing. So, here we go…

　

In the first dream, my brother James took me to a theme park. At first I didn’t know what theme park it was, so naturally I envisioned water slides and rollercoasters as I tried to guess this surprise. Turns out it was a theme park based on the idea of Muslims and Jews getting along. I shit you not. Among the attractions were the two cultures sitting in a giant field with each other and going swimming together in an indoor pool. I like the idea of people coexisting peacefully, but there’s just one problem: no rollercoasters. None. Not one fucking rollercoaster. So I decide to send James a text message saying I’m headed for home to find something more fun to do than to hang out at the theme park. He sends one back to me saying that I’m ignorant and uneducated, basically muscling me back into the theme park with a guilt trip. And then the two of us run around the theme park pretending to be Clerks characters. I ate an ice cream cone beforehand, so naturally I gassed out early while James, being the athlete he is, outruns me for miles.

And then you have the second dream, the one I consider to be a nightmare. The dream took place in a massage parlor based on one that’s right here in my home town of Port Orchard. I wish I was making that part up. It’s in a strip mall next to the tobacco store where I used to buy Susan cigarettes. The windows are blacked out and the business sign just says “Massage”. In my dream, I finally decide it’s time to lose my virginity, so I go into that same massage parlor looking for sex. I have to wait in the lobby so that the staff can find me a suitable girl who will be my first lay. Here’s where the sexy dream turns into a nightmare. In the lobby, there are television monitors mounted on the walls. And on these monitors, they’re showing…(gulp)…overly muscular cartoon men from around the world raping each other as well as raping a few animals. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the trauma still lingered. Regardless, James took out his smart phone and Googled a better place to get laid, which is in California. Before I had the chance to drive there, I woke up from the dream feeling terrified of what I saw in the massage parlor.

　

Will I be using these dreams for creative fuel? The answer to that question is the same as any other dream I’ve posted about in Garrison’s Library: no. I kept saying yes during those past posts, but I never got around to it, so I might as well give an honest answer and say no this time. However, the idea of weird ass dreams and nightmares could work in a short story for the WSS. Maybe the guy could go to a sleep clinic and have the worst nightmare in his whole life. He could be possessed by a demon or he could be haunted by psychological demons from his past. I like where this is going! We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: Things happened today, things that probably ruined my chances with Caitlin.
RANDAL: What, the dead guy? She’ll get over fucking a dead guy. Shit, my mom’s been fucking a dead guy for thirty years. I call him dad.
DANTE: Caitlin and I can’t be together after this, it’s impossible.
RANDAL: Melodrama seems to come as naturally for you as a normal bowel movement.

-Clerks-

Cancellation

***CANCELLATION***

There’s been a change of plans regarding the vacation to Steamboat Springs. When my mom, step-dad, and I had dinner together, I just then found out that the vacation would involve many hours of car travel since Steamboat Springs isn’t the only destination. Wyoming and Denver were the other two places we were planning to go since there’s family in Wyoming and Denver is where the actual airport is. I can tolerate long airplane and car rides as long as they’re few and far between. This vacation in particular means I have to go for five or six hour car rides almost every day. I can’t sit on my ass for that long since I would get insanely bored, irritably impatient, and physically sore. I don’t care how loudly Phil Anselmo is growling in my ears or how many kick-ass matches Daniel Bryan talks about in his book, because books and music only make lengthy travel a LITTLE bit better. I’ve been on many vacations with my parents where long distance car travel plagued what was supposed to be a good time. Therefore, at dinner, I told my parents that it would be best if they went on vacation without me while I stay home and babysit the animals with my brother. The best part about making that decision was that my mom was very understanding about it and didn’t put up any resistance to it. I can even quote her as saying the exact words, “I often forget that what’s fun for me can be a trial to you.” She’s right. It’s the price of being an extroverted mother with an introverted son. But she accepts that and is okay with my decision to stay home.

Ed, Edd, n' Eddy

TV SHOW TITLE: Ed, Edd, n’ Eddy
CREATOR: Danny Antonucci
YEARS ACTIVE: 1999-2009
GENRE: Animated Comedy
RATING: TV-Y7 for crude humor
GRADE: Pass


In the crazy cul-de-sac of Peach Creek, three preteen boys aptly named Ed, Edd (Double D), and Eddy try to scam the other children out of their allowances with elaborate services and crude goods. Their scams always end up in a disastrous failure either because the kids catch on, Ed botches the whole thing, or the infamous Kanker Sisters gatecrash their way through the episodes. Sometimes the episode doesn’t truly start until after the scam has failed, in which case a hilarious adventure filled with slapstick comedy is in store for the three Ed’s, which also most of the time ends horribly for the slippery rogues.

When going through a list of things to like about this series, the characters are at the top, especially when talking about the three Ed’s. Even though they share a variation of the name Edward and are best friends until the end, the three kids couldn’t be more polarizing in terms of personality and how they interact with the other kids. Ed is the dunderheaded muscle of the group, Double D is the scrawny brains, and Eddy is the loudmouthed hustler who comes up with every scam the three attempt. Their opposing personalities mesh so well together that the comedy can come from any angle. It’s part of the reason why the show stayed fresh for a whole decade before it was ended.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for five other characters who occupy the show. It’s rare for me to lodge complaints at mediums that I give a passing grade to, but these five characters in question warrant it. The three Kanker Sisters are at the top of any watcher’s shit list. They claim to have romantic crushes on the Ed’s, but come off as bullies when they try to get their attention, leading them to look like rapists or molesters. Then you have the stereotypical jock Kevin, who’s always calling the Ed’s “dorks” and finding other ways to harass them. The fifth character in question has earned every B-word the audience thinks of calling her. Her name is Sarah and she’s the bratty, spoiled, loud, and violent little sister of Ed. It’s rare to see justice served to these five jerks, but when it happens, it’s sweet to watch. Remember the episode where Ed was in a grumpy mood, so he yelled at Sarah and turned Eddy into a baseball bat before knocking Kevin out of the park? If only he could do those things to the Kanker Sisters.

In addition to the wild antics of each character and the comedy that spawns from it, there’s also a little bit of mystique when it comes to the show. Aside from the regular roster of characters, no other children are on the show, not even as extras. The only way we would ever see an adult on the show is if their arms and legs are showing, but little else. It’s because of this mystique that I keep watching the show when new episodes are out; I keep secretly hoping to see an adult or other character.

My wishes were answered during the final episode of Ed, Edd, n’ Eddy, which was an hour-long TV movie called The Ed’s Big Picture Show. Prior to this conclusion to the series, Eddy was always bragging about how his older brother was so cool and how he struck fear in the hearts of other children. When Eddy’s nameless brother finally appears on screen, he turns out to be a sadistic bully who torments Eddy in front of the other kids. The brother is eventually taken out by a swinging trailer door and Eddy apologizes to the other kids for every scam he created in his sibling’s name. The end of the TV movie shows the cul-de-sac kids accepting the apology and making the Ed’s their best friends. It was a heartwarming ending to a series where failure is part of the crude humor.

Having this series as a part of my life for a decade makes me wonder if Danny Antonucci is going to create any other series that are as good or better than Ed, Edd, n’ Eddy. I haven’t heard anything as of late, which is sad, because Mr. Antonucci is a talented cartoonist who not only created a television show, but a piece of his soul, which is corny to say, but I said it anyways. Come back, Danny! Come back!