Rush Limbaugh: His Mouth Was Good for Two Things and One of Them Was Spreading Conservative BS

 

A Chosen Destiny by Drew McIntyre

BOOK TITLE: A Chosen Destiny

AUTHOR: Drew McIntyre (ghostwritten by Sarah Edworthy)

YEAR: 2021

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: B

If you’ve watched WWE from the late 2000’s to the 2020’s, you’ve seen the Scottish Psychopath Drew McIntyre on your screen, whether he was an arrogant heel, a brawling monster, or the WWE Champion during the pandemic era. If you want to hear his turbulent story about how he got to that pinnacle and all the obstacles between him and glory, you’ve cracked open the right book. I need to warn you, though, that this book reads like a lot of pro-wrestlers’ memoirs: a childhood dream turned reality with an overabundance of show-don’t-tell violations. Emotional moments that deserved time to breathe barely get a few sentences to describe how Drew was feeling in that moment, which is a shame considering some of the trauma he went through. “I was angry.” “I was sad.” “I wanted to wreck everything.” Not all of the writing is like this, but most of it is. That’s to be expected from celebrity memoirs. If that kind of milk-toast style bothers you or you’re not already part of the wrestling bubble, you may want to keep this book shelved. Otherwise, enjoy the ride!

If you can excuse the bland writing style, then you might be moved by some of these legitimately heartbreaking stories he tells. Winning the WWE Championship in an empty warehouse with no fans to cheer him on is the ultimate bittersweet moment in his career. It’s not nearly as soul-crushing as losing his physically disabled, yet highly optimistic mother to cancer in the middle of his WWE career. Or how about the time when he kept showing up to work plastered because alcohol was the only thing that brought him peace? What about the time when he was fired from WWE along with nine other wrestlers like he was an expendable foot soldier? These are all moments that would destroy any reader if they were explored in depth and with a more descriptive ghostwriter. They still tug at the heartstrings. They still hit me where it hurts. But like I said in the first paragraph, these legitimately painful moments needed time to breathe and develop. Just like Drew was robbed of his Wrestlemania crowd pop, we were robbed of a face full of tears. How’s that for irony?

I wrestled with myself (no pun intended) when trying to decide between a B or a C grade for this memoir. Ultimately, I settled on a B, because Drew McIntyre has an interesting enough life to justify penning a memoir. The way he talks about his obsession with wrestling as a kid and how he brought that fandom into his everyday life? That’s the stuff dreams are made of. Completely transforming his diet and lifestyle after getting fired by WWE? That and touring relentlessly on the indie circuit was exactly what he needed to get back into the company. Getting cheered on by his family in Scotland and his wife in America? That’s what kept him going every night. And then he eventually won the WWE Championship, but that, according to him, was only the beginning of much bigger plans. His newfound work ethic was an admirable thing to see in his process of maturity. But again, it would have meant more with better writing.

A Chosen Destiny is an interesting read, but only if you already follow wrestling. Maybe that was the whole point behind the marketing techniques. Maybe it doesn’t have to be massively appealing to be successful. Should I be more forgiving of books that have a super-niche audience? I’d like to think that’s a good idea. Maybe that’s why I’m being generous with my B grade instead of dropping it to a C. It is a good book for what it is, but I would only recommend it to other wrestling fans. In that respect, the memoir did its job. Drew McIntyre, on the other hand, will hopefully never have to do a long string of jobs ever again. Wrestling fans know what that means.

The Schizophrenic's Creed

I am a schizophrenic

I didn’t ask to be one

I didn’t choose this life for myself

This life chose me

There are others like me who suffer as I do

But I am more than a statistic

I am a dreamer

I am a survivor

I am a warrior fighting against my past

My traumas are not my fault

I deserve better treatment from the world

Despite knowing this, my schizophrenia is still a part of me

It cannot be gaslit away

It cannot be prayed away

It is a disease just like any other

It’s no different from a fever

It’s a psychological cancer

The reason it exists is to destroy me from within

It has no other purpose

It is a curse I carry until the day I die

Hopefully, that day will come slowly

I have so much to do in this world despite my mind ghosts

I have people to love

I have art to create and consume

I have minds to change and hearts to care for

I do not know this yet and I may never know until it’s too late

But this world is a colder place without me and people like me

The world doesn’t love me, but I love the world

I’ll stay for as long as I can, even when my voices tell me lies

Amen!

Captain Brock

VERSE 1

He’s never had a cigarette a day in his life

But he smoked a whole football team in just one night

He’s the Captain of the Cougars, the team and the ladies

And every cheerleader wants to be his only sugar baby

Every freshman is trapped in their own school locker

He put them there and tape gagged the shit-talkers

He’s got an A in everything without lifting a finger

When it’s baseball or babes, he’s a home run swinger

CHORUS 1

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

He’s the King of the Straights, the King of the Cis

But if he’s the King, then who’s the Queen?

Homecoming, no-homo is what he means

VERSE 2

He’s got bullycide and beef on his inflated resume

The boss man looked at him and said, “No way!”

So he sued the company for everything they’re worth

Wiped their NASDAQ symbol right off the earth

What’s next for Brock: President or Dictator?

He could stuff the lockers full of more freshman haters

Except they’re not called lockers after school

They’re called prison cells under the iron rule

CHORUS 1

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

He’s the King of the Straights, the King of the Cis

But if he’s the King, then who’s the Queen?

Homecoming, no-homo is what he means

VERSE 3

And then the day came where karma fucked him over

His cancer just ensured that he never saw October

They buried his ass on Halloween night

All the beardos and weirdoes breathed a huge sigh

They can disco dance with the werewolves and vamps

At a Rammstein concert with ball gags and loud amps

The harvest moon never looked so beautiful

Keep the good memories, they’re forever reusable

CHORUS 2

His name is Captain Brock because of course it is

But you’d be forgiven if you forgot about his sins

Are you coping with trauma or was he just mediocre?

It’s a little bit of both, aren’t you glad this shit is over?

Cookie-cutter muscle-heads may write our history

But they don’t have a future with you or me

They can’t blame it all on the myth of Cancel Culture

They can blame themselves for being greedy vultures

The Dark of You

There was no glory in being stuck in a cat cage at the Humane Society. Then again, being punched and screamed at by Dr. Claw was the entire reason for MAD Cat being here in the first place. He hissed at the memories of having his head pounded in. He curled in the corner as every insult played in his traumatized mind. The one memory that brought wetness to his eyes was when Dr. Claw smashed MAD Cat’s Inspector Gadget toy bank to pieces.

The black and gray feline tucked his face in his paws and allowed his tears to flow freely. These kinds of emotions were forbidden in his former life of crime and villainy. But in this animal shelter with other meowing felines and barking canines, MAD Cat didn’t have any choices when it came to showing vulnerability. The bumps on his noggin and the redness in his eyes did enough of that for him.

His heart fractured in two at the thought of being potentially adopted by a loving family…mainly because he didn’t know what that was supposed to look like. He didn’t know what love was. He had a vague idea of it for all of the times that Dr. Claw petted him. But if that was his only reference point, then he earned every tear that fell from his bloodshot eyes.

MAD Cat wanted a second chance at life. He wanted to be the loving and sweet kitty that his caretakers at the Humane Society needed him to be. Whenever an ordinary human walked by his cage, he would roll over and fake purrs just to put on a show. But when they stuck their fingers through the cage, anger took over with a growl, a hiss, and a vicious claw slash that sometimes drew blood. The caretakers in scrubs would ask what the hell was wrong with him. The would-be owners would let a stream of curses fly as they held their bloody fingers.

While patience would have to be a virtue for every potential pet owner, knowing they could never show patience for a feral warrior like MAD Cat sent him scurrying into the corner of his cage tucking his head. Another opportunity at life squandered forever. Another crying spell with heavy breathing in between teardrops. MAD Cat had never breathed this heavily before. He could slash and claw like a jungle beast, but only after arriving at the shelter did he huff and wheeze after every confrontation. Was he gaining weight? Was the dried kibble in his pink bowl giving him digestive problems? The food was slightly better than what Dr. Claw used to feed him, but why the heavy breathing?

Every day in this rowdy shelter was the same. Slash, hiss, growl, receive dirty looks, get traumatized by the swear words, rinse, lather, repeat. MAD Cat had completely lost track of how long he’d been in this lonely cage of his own making. Even with all of that time passing by, the memories of Dr. Claw’s abuse remained fresh and painful. He rolled around on the carpeted floor trying to feel comfortable every night.

His bumpy spine wasn’t the problem. The lumps on his noggin didn’t help matters, but it was what was inside the noggin that kept him awake most nights and kept his eyes black and red the entire time. More nightmares. More punches. More threats. More of Dr. Claw’s throaty voice yelling and screaming at him in a way that no master should treat an animal. He’d wake up every morning even more tired than before. And yet, he kept his guard up around any human or animal that walked by his cage. His claws were unsheathed and the scent of blood invaded his nostrils.

And then his eyes burned with scalding tears when he saw other animals being freed from their cages and held tenderly by their new owners. Cats rubbed their heads against children’s arms. Dogs licked their parents’ faces and wouldn’t stop. Dogs and cats collectively rolled over in happiness that their special day had finally come. MAD Cat’s day would never come. He didn’t even bother trying to look cute anymore. No more rolling over or faking purrs. Just sitting in the corner with a clenched jaw, bloody claws, and burning eyes. He almost entertained the idea of going back into Dr. Claw’s arms, but then remembered Inspector Gadget raiding the hideout and putting him here in the first place. MAD Cat crossed his paws and seethed with jealousy.

More days went by and more animals not named MAD Cat were being adopted left and right. More hugs, kisses, purrs, and pets, none of which were for the only cat left in the shelter after the days had turned to weeks. No new influx of animals, only caretakers in scrubs celebrating with champagne that they had, “Cleared the shelters.” MAD Cat’s fuse shortened a little more…and he huffed and puffed a little louder.

And then…the day finally came. But it wasn’t an adopter who visited MAD Cat’s cage. It was a scrub-wearing caretaker with thick rimmed glasses, a skinny build, and a nametag that said Mitch. Mitch’s face was long before, but gained a few more inches as he gazed upon MAD Cat with sadness and regret. “I’m sorry, little guy. It’s time to be put down.”

MAD Cat’s eyes widened and he let out a violent hiss at those words. As soon as Mitch opened the cage just a little bit, MAD Cat flew out and slashed at his face, causing a gash to run down his cheek. The taste of freedom was better than any kibble this god-forsaken shelter served and MAD Cat took full advantage as he darted around the room. Other caretakers in scrubs tried to catch him, but he was too fast. One that was fortunate to grab his tail was met with a nasty bite on the wrist that caused a howl of pain.

He ran past more caretakers, bobbing and weaving through their legs and slashing at anybody who came within inches of recapturing him. And then, a guest opened the front door and MAD Cat bolted outside for fresh air. Breathing cool air never felt so good on his burning lungs. But when he did so, it was heavy and wheezy yet again. His legs ached, his stomach boiled, his lungs barely did their job in supplying him with oxygen. All MAD Cat wanted to do was lay in the street and finally get the sleep he desperately needed, even if a nightmare was waiting for him on the other side. Dr. Claw’s beatings didn’t sound so bad after all.

Just when he was ready to drift away, Mitch wrapped him in a towel and said in a gentle voice, “There you are, little guy! It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. We still love you.” Mitch petted MAD Cat behind the ears and the feline’s tears soaked his already battered face yet again. The scratches sent tingles throughout his scalp and the purring was real this time. “You poor thing. You’ve got a lump on your chest.”

Mitch was right. He touched two fingers to MAD Cat’s chest and sure enough, there it was blocking the feline’s breathing. It all made sense now. What didn’t make sense was why it took this long for MAD Cat to experience any kind of loving touch from the human race. As Mitch took him back inside, MAD Cat realized that this would be the only moment of gentleness he would take to the after life. He wanted to leap out of his caretaker’s arms and make another dash for freedom. But he was so tired. His eyes were closing. Pain disabled his limbs. And that damned lump on his chest…that was the final blow that couldn’t be delivered by Dr. Claw.

Mitch took him into the medical wing and laid him on a metal table, unwrapping the towel as a sign of trust. Every staff member MAD Claw had ungratefully bitten and slashed was standing around him not with masks of anger and blood, but with sympathy and sadness. They all reached over and scratched him behind the ears and on his bumpy back. Even though MAD Cat was purring like a lawnmower this time, he still couldn’t shake the nonstop tears.

As part of this procedure, Mitch pulled out his smart phone and played a sorrowful song for MAD Cat to take with him to the afterlife. Some singer named Ben serenaded MAD Cat with lines about being “The Dark of You” while a piano and thunder accompanied these words. Even the caretakers couldn’t help but tear up and wipe their faces with either their fingers or a nearby Kleenex.

Mitch petted MAD Cat on the head and said, “Don’t worry, little guy. It’ll all be over soon. After this is over, you’ll get to go to a magical place where you don’t have to worry about that mean Dr. Claw ever again. You can be happy again. But you have to hold still for me. Okay?” He kissed MAD Cat on the nose and the feline relaxed into a puddle on the table.

One of the caretakers handed Mitch a needle while others gently cradled the fur ball. There was no last hurrah for MAD Cat. No dash for freedom. No bloody battle. Then again, he didn’t want a last hurrah. He didn’t want to repeat the violence of his former master. He did it only because that was all he knew. Happiness had been so foreign to MAD Cat that it would take a needle poke in his arm to help him realize it. And then the caretakers petted him. And then his eyes closed. They didn’t burn this time. There were no tears. There was only peace and quiet. Blackness clouded his vision as the Broken singer named Ben sang him into the afterlife.

MAD Cat’s blackened vision was brightened by a glowing gold light. When he slowly opened his eyes, they didn’t burn anymore. They didn’t leak salty fluids. His breathing wasn’t heavy anymore. His legs and torso didn’t burn with hellish pain. The lumps on his head were flattened. His bumpy spine felt comfy and warm as he laid in a field of grass. This was what it meant to be…happy.

MAD Cat hopped to his feet and did victory laps around the grass field, the sun warming his fur coat and the colorful bridge in front of him guiding him to even more heavenly pastures. The further he crossed that colorful bridge, the more pep he had in his step. Fuzzy friends of all sorts were waiting for MAD Cat, each of them with purrs louder than a machinegun and doggy smiles that kept the scenery bright. MAD Cat didn’t feel like scratching and biting them. Instead when he crossed the bridge, he wrestled with them on the grassy knoll. Any bites and scratches he unleashed were playful and loving, not malicious. He wouldn’t tire out for a long time, but when he did and the moon and stars replaced the sun, he found himself in the fuzziest cuddle puddle and he didn’t want to move.

Dr. Claw would never find him here. Inspector Gadget wouldn’t start any more fights in his presence. No cage could limit his happiness. MAD Cat finally knew what it meant to be wild and free. Maybe in his next lifetime, he could take a permanent vacation from organized crime and snuggle in his new master’s lap. But for now, all he wanted to do was relax, love, and be loved. Was that too much to ask? His new furry friends disagreed. Maybe MAD Cat could take some of them with him when his time to be reborn came along. That was what the world needed right now: more animal babies, less Dr. Claws.

Hit Piece

VERSE 1
“Everything’s a hit piece, everything’s a shit squeeze”
You can’t take criticism
“Everything is cancer, no one has the answers”
You can’t engage in witticism
“Everything is canceled, everything’s an online battle”
Who’s the real snowflake now?
“Everything is PC, they all want to have it easy”
First amendment keeps you loud

CHORUS 1
Anytime you pay your taxes
You always grind your axes
Anytime two gay guys kiss
It’s the dark ages you miss
Anytime you fire your gun
You take away somebody’s son
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
I don’t care if it’s red, white, or blue

VERSE 2
“Everyone’s got a cell phone, everyone’s mind is blown”
Pass the torch to the next generation
“Everyone wants free shit, it’s a taxpayer’s pit”
Don’t forget your arthritis medication
“Everyone’s got a trophy, they can show it to their homies”
Okay, Boomer, enough is enough
“Everyone’s too sensitive, they always want sedatives”
I thought you old farts were so tough

CHORUS 2
Anytime black people protest
You clutch your pearls to your chest
Anytime we ask for justice
You gag like you’re disgusted
Anytime you spread Corona
You blame it all on California
It’s not a hit piece, where’s the lie?
Let the man child president cry

BRIDGE
BP gas up your ass
Light the very last match
Keep the bleach within your reach
Listen to the con artists preach
Have some fun with your guns
Shoot the shit out of everyone
It’s not a hit piece, fact check that
The golden goose is getting fat

VERSE 3
“Everywhere’s burning down, not in my hometown”
The signs have never been brighter
“Everywhere’s a sanctuary, turn them all to mortuaries”
My people are both lovers and fighters

CHORUS 3
Anytime we get a little angry
You pretend to be so saintly
It’s not a hit piece if it doesn’t slander
Find another place for your star-spangled banner
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
This world doesn’t revolve around you
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!

"Cry Standing Up" by Valarie Savage Kinney

BOOK TITLE: Cry Standing Up

AUTHOR: Valarie Savage Kinney

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Grief Memoir

GRADE: Extra Credit

Losing family members so soon is never easy to deal with, whether it’s the actual deaths or the anxiety and depression that come with it. In this grief memoir, you will feel every emotion Valarie Savage Kinney feels and more often than not it will hurt worse than a gunshot to the heart. So many times people have told her “get over it” or “not dwell on the past”. Ridding oneself of mental illnesses isn’t as simple as everyone makes it out to be. It’s a beast that eats the victim alive from the inside. The author does a phenomenal job of describing the horrific effects of her mental illnesses, so much so that she’s easy to relate to. Mental illness is a universal problem that needs addressing. Don’t run from your demons. Don’t destroy yourself in an effort to numb the pain. Face these hideous monsters head on. Cry standing up.

The descriptions Valarie uses to describe her psychological attacks are incredibly vivid, whether it’s anxiety making her heart thump at a million miles an hour or depression making her want to stay in bed all day and do absolutely nothing. Sometimes she cries for no reason at all. Sometimes her body feels as though she’s pinned underneath a vehicle. Sometimes she has nightmares that are so bloody and terrifying that they completely undermine her own violent tendencies when writing scenes from her fantasy novels. Mental illness hurts in every way. It always will. It’s what you do about that pain that determines your quality of life. Staying positive all the time is virtually impossible, but taking comfort in the little victories in life can make a world of difference. That’s what her memoir means to me and should mean to everyone who reads it.

One of the many things about this book that hit me the hardest was Valarie’s inability to understand plots of novels she reads or television shows she watches. As a sufferer of mental illness myself, I’ve had this happen to me on many occasions. It’s frustrating, especially to someone whose main occupation revolves around being creative and coming up with their own stories. You want so much to be able to get your comprehension abilities back, but like country singer Luke Bryan said in an interview, you won’t be 100% anymore, so hopefully you’ll at least get to 75%. In the end, losing pieces of yourself is nothing to be ashamed of. It took a long time for Valarie to learn this, but it’s a lesson she can safely pass onto her readers whether they’re struggling or are about to struggle.

Another piece of wisdom I enjoyed from this book is giving yourself permission to rest. It doesn’t mean bypassing your responsibilities completely. It just means taking these breaks when you can. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy the little moments in life. If you have to take a nap, go for it. If all you want to do is sit and stare, by all means, go for it. Even if you work a nine-to-five job and have other duties on top of that, you can only stretch yourself so thin before you completely burst at the seams. You don’t owe anybody an explanation or an apology for wanting some downtime. Relax every once and a while. Be good to yourself. When you get back on your feet again, your body and mind will thank you for the moments of respite.

Deaths of loved ones were a common occurrence throughout this memoir. It didn’t seem like the universe was going to give Valarie a break in between deaths, panic attacks, and moments of extreme sadness and exhaustion. If you don’t relate to loss already, you will as life goes on. Nothing lasts forever. Death is another part of life. It’s sad that we have to prepare ourselves for when that day finally comes, but Valarie’s experiences will serve as a reminder that sunny days will come again. If you must cry, cry standing up. The dark valleys you have will be worth it if you know there’s a valley of light waiting for you at the end of it all. An extra credit grade goes to this emotional and raw piece of nonfiction.

A Dog's Journey

MOVIE TITLE: A Dog’s Journey

DIRECTOR: Gail Mancuso

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Animal Drama

RATING: PG for mild violence

GRADE: Extra Credit

An Australian Shepherd named Bailey enjoys life on a farm with his puppy parents Ethan and Hannah. He also loves their granddaughter CJ and has sworn to protect her no matter how many lives it takes him to do so. An alcoholic mother, a slew of bad boyfriends, and a dwindling music career all serve as obstacles for CJ growing up. The one thing she can count on is always having a puppy-duppy by her side despite the negative influences around her. Can this series of dogs help CJ find her way into a comfortable and loving life?

There wasn’t a single dry eye in the move theater when I saw this. Even though I take medication that keeps me emotionally numb, I also couldn’t help but shed a tear or two. Every death, every heartbreak, every cancer diagnosis, and every tragedy in this movie meant something. I wouldn’t have teared up for characters I didn’t care about, but CJ and her many dogs are incredibly deserving of not only the audience’s attention, but love as well. CJ may be the most lovable human character of them all, but even she’s not above making foolish mistakes from time to time. Her imperfections make her a suitable vehicle for our emotions. When she cries, you cry. When she’s happy, you’re happy. When she conquers the world, you too feel inspired to do so. That’s a lot of tears for a lot of moviegoers.

As many lovable characters as there are in this film, they couldn’t bring you those much-needed tears without their foils. Gloria, CJ’s neglectful and emotionally abusive mother, is very much deserving of your scorn. But even she can be redeemable, which is more than the audience will ever say about CJ’s criminal boyfriend Shane or her arrogant suit-wearing boyfriend afterwards named Barry. It’s toxic people like these that remind the audience over and over again never to make the foolish choices that CJ had the misfortune of making. These villains wouldn’t make good puppy parents. They wouldn’t even make good casual acquaintances. The sooner CJ is rid of them, the better off she’ll be. It’s heartbreaking to watch these people invade her life, but it’s necessary to keep the conflict strong and the audience’s eyeballs wet.

And of course, Bailey wouldn’t be able to protect CJ as much as he has if not for the power of reincarnation. This is a powerful theme in the movie, especially when the dead dogs run through a wheat field to cross the Rainbow Bridge. There are critics of reincarnation out there and they very well could be right. But there’s no denying the comfort it brings to owners of deceased pets. It doesn’t even have to be a religious deal. It could just be comfort for comfort’s sake. I had a spunky all-white cat named Simon who crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 2011. Two years later I adopted an equally-spunky cat named Tori, whom I jokingly call Simon 2.0 because of how similar they are. It could be a coincidence, but even my atheist heart doesn’t have it in me to ruin the magic for pet owners, let alone the moviegoers who shed many tears in the theater that evening.

It’s rare when a movie hits me where it hurts the most. I usually watch a movie with the idea that I’ll like it, but not much beyond that. I didn’t just like this movie. I loved it. It made me believe in the power of animal companionship all over again (not that I ever questioned it). Our fur babies depend on us to provide love and care. I’ll keep doing so for as long as I live. I consider it to be my life’s purpose, above my writing career even. That’s what A Dog’s Journey means to me and that’s why I’m giving it an extra credit grade. Congratulations, puppy-duppies: you’ve earned every broken heart.

Goddamn Dog

As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

"Where's My Kitty?" by Ashley Uzzell

BOOK TITLE: Where’s My Kitty?

AUTHOR: Ashley Uzzell

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Children

GRADE: Pass

Little Kassidy is playing outside and would love to have a furry friend to share her adventures. But she keeps asking, “Where’s my kitty?” She looks in all of the usual places from the forest to the bathtub to even his favorite spot on the living room couch. Where could the little munchkin be?

Because this book is short by nature, this review will also be a brief one. First of all, I’ll just say…aww! Actually, you’re going to be saying that throughout this reading adventure. The pictures of little Spunky (the cat) are adorable and it’s easy to see why Kassidy would want to snuggle and play with the fur baby sweetheart. Not only does she want to know, “Where’s my kitty?”, but you’ll want to know too. You’ll wish you could give the fuzzy rug-rat pettings behind the ear and across his back. You’ll wish you could hear his purr motor revving in your ear. You’ll wish you could see the look on Kassidy’s cheerful baby face when she finds him. I’d warn you about that spoiler, but you saw it coming from miles away. This is an all-around cute book and that’s what you should expect when you pick up a copy.

Although the book was published in 2016, it was written when the real-life Kassidy was just a toddler. Since then, Spunky has passed to the Rainbow Bridge and Kassidy has won her battle with childhood leukemia. This book, as short as it may be, is a wonderful tribute to a wonderful love between child and kitty. Spunky is purring from beyond the grave, which is why I’m giving this book a passing grade. You’ve done your daughter proud, Ms. Uzzell!

Incelbordination, Chapter 14

Falling asleep in the middle of danger seemed to be a common occurrence for Oswald Crow. He wondered how many blows to the head he’d taken since fighting against Incelbordination. Apparently, not enough to forget the pain of loneliness. Or the pain of being labeled a terrorist. Or the pain of possibly being thrown in jail for a roll of weed. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit if he woke up a jail cell right then and there. But low and behold, he woke up (if one could call it that) back at the warehouse, a dark and empty warehouse at that. No bloodstains. No dead bodies. No crying. No pleas for help. Absolutely nothing at all.

And then what few lights there were began to flicker brightly at a rapid pace. Oswald held his aching head as he stood up and allowed his swollen eyeballs to adjust to the light. Needle pains pierced through his system and caused him to whine gently to himself. Not knowing where he was going, he bumped into a wooden crate that seemed to be filled to the top with bullets. Entranced, he sifted his fingers through the metal like beach sand. Somehow this was relaxing to his anxiety. A phantom woman appearing out of nowhere, however, was far from it.

An attractive black woman with long hair and a longer gray dress hovered over Oswald with a smile on her face. “Hello, Mr. Crow. Remember me?”

If the dwarf’s eyes weren’t wide before, they were now that this ghost appeared before him. “Mrs. Mills?”

“That’s right, Oswald. It’s me: Mrs. Mills. It’s been a while since the two of us talked. It’s almost like you’re avoiding me or something. Why would that be?” She leaned her face closer to Oswald and said, “That’s right, I remember. You never wanted to show your face again after you wrote me that love letter. I can’t say I blame you, teenage hormones aside.”

The dwarf’s face glowed nuclear red as he tried to come up with some dialogue. “Mrs. Mills…I’m …I’m sorry…I really am…”

Waving it off, Mrs. Mills said, “Don’t worry, Oswald, it’s not a problem at all. It’s not like I went through my own version of humiliation, being divorced and fired and whatnot. I must admit, you know how to tell a good love story…for high school standards, at least.”

“Please…Mrs. Mills, just go away.” Oswald sifted his fingers through the bullets yet again, but the anxiety relief wouldn’t come for him this time.

“Why should I, little buddy? Am I saying things you don’t like to hear?” said Mrs. Mills in an increasingly erratic tone. “You think you’re starving for love? What about me? Where was I supposed to get mine? From you? Don’t make me laugh, I’m in enough trouble as it is. Oh wait…I can’t be in trouble….because I’m dead! My bad!”

Oswald made a fist with the bullets he grabbed, as though he was ready to go to war right there. “You know how you could have saved your job and your life? By telling the other kids our phony relationship wasn’t true. You could have sent them to the principal’s office. You could have whacked their hands with pencils for all I cared. Do something to set things right, that’s all anybody could ask for. But no…you did absolutely nothing to stop those rumors from spreading to the kids. I’ve never heard so many kids laughing at me in my life. You? You might as well have laughed with them. You were complicit by your silence.”

Caught in her own debunked logic, Mrs. Mills shook her head and confessed, “Oswald, there was nothing I could do. I was just as unbelievable as you were. If they didn’t listen to you, what makes you think they could have listened to me?”

“Because you’re a fucking teacher and you know better than to let shit happen!” bellowed Oswald before throwing bullets at the phantom. “Get out! Get the hell out of here and stop haunting my dreams!” The dwarf threw even more bullets until the ghost fizzled out of sight.

And then by some strange magic, the crate refilled with more bullets, just in time for yet another ghost to appear: a baldheaded teenaged cancer patient trapped in a wheelchair with a psychotic frown on her face. “What about me, Oswald? You’re always talking with Antero about how you want cards and flowers on your grave, right? Where were my flowers when I needed them? Where was my love? Were you too embarrassed to admit that I was your girlfriend or were you too cowardly to take care of me when I needed someone the most?”

Breathing heavily through gritted teeth, Oswald scooped up more bullets in his hand and shouted, “Man, fuck you, Trish! You were just as complicit as my deadbeat English teacher! You didn’t stop the laughs! You didn’t stop the rumors! Even a sick chick like you could use a smart phone and make things right! You did nothing about it! Fuck you, Trish! Fuck off!” The dwarf threw even more bullets than before and caused Trish’s ghost to fade away in the darkness. And once again, the crate magically refilled with tossing props.

Yet another ghost haunted Oswald’s tortured soul: a blond haired teenage boy with a rainbow-colored shirt and his chin tucked in shame. “Are you going to throw bullets at me, you little shit?” The dwarf’s expression softened as he dropped the bullets back in the box. “All I did was place my hand on your shoulder and help you carry your books. I admit, I started to like you for a while. I told you how cute you were. And you just…you just snapped like a madman.” The boy tried in vain to wipe tears from his eyes, but they just kept flowing.

“You got me all wrong, Hunter,” said Oswald, his voice muffled in defeat. “I’m not one of those homophobic assholes. You just caught me on a bad day, that’s all. All the laughing, the name calling, the beatings I took…it just wasn’t my day. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Hunter’s ghost dissolved in the darkness and gave way to an army of angry young men with red hot neon in their eyes. Oswald dropped to his ass and breathed heavily in fear as these ghosts called him every name in the book while pointing accusatory fingers at him. The dwarf clutched his chest in an attempt to prevent a possible heart attack when Antero Magnus’ ghost appeared in front of those kids. Antero’s eyes had glowed a little brighter that night, giving off that same creepy shiver down Oswald’s spine.

“What do you people want from me?! Leave me alone!” the dwarf shouted in between winded breaths.

“You see all these kids, Oswald?” asked Antero as he waved his hands in both directions to show them off. “You let them all down, my former friend. You let me down too. You could have been one of the greatest revolutionaries of all time. You could have put Che Guevara to shame. You could have changed the world. Instead you turned your back on us .Of all the people you’ve seen tonight, we were the only ones who gave a damn about you. You threw it all away, Oswald. You’re not a supreme gentleman. You’re not even a manlet. You’re a fucking loser!”

Oswald kept screaming, “Shut up!” as he desperately reached into the bullet box and threw in every direction he could. Bullets to the left, bullets to the right, bullets to the center, bullets in a three hundred sixty degree angle. No matter how many he threw, the ghosts kept growing in numbers. Sure, the box refilled as it always did, but what good were those weapons if they only counted for a few victims?

The one victim Oswald wanted to hit the most, Antero, had put a stop to his rebellion with a one-handed chokehold to the little guy. Between the throat squeezing and his own heart-exploding anxiety, Oswald struggled to stay alive as he flopped on the ground like a fish, the ghosts of Incelbordination creeping over him and laughing like high school children. Mrs. Mills was among that crowd as well. As was Trish. As was Hunter. As was an entire underworld of tormentors waiting to gobble up Oswald for a late night snack. Just because he was paranoid, didn’t mean the world wasn’t out to get him.

When it looked like he would be permanently dragged to hell for his romantic sins, Oswald awakened in a dark cell by sitting upright and gasping in a raspy voice. He could finally breathe again even though he was drowning in sweat. Hopefully the stain on his pants was sweat too. The little guy plopped backwards and continued to catch his lost breath whilst clutching his chest.

“What the fuck was all that? Where am I? Hello?!” No answers, only darkness. Imprisoned, blighted, depressive darkness. But even the black nothing was better than being anywhere near Antero’s warehouse. “Wait a minute…if I’m in this cell…where’s Antero?! Where is everybody else?! Where the fuck am I?! Somebody help me!”

Deadpool

MOVIE TITLE: Deadpool

DIRECTOR: Tim Miller

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Superhero

RATING: R for violence, sex, and language

GRADE: Extra Credit

Wade Wilson is wise-cracking antihero mercenary who discovers he has lung cancer. His only surefire treatment option is to be turned into an indestructible superhero by sadistic slave trader Francis Freeman. The process to become superhuman involves around-the-clock torture to wake up his mutated genes. Wade is cancer-free, but also has a hideous face that he believes will make his fiancé want to break up with him. Now the newly christened Deadpool must track down Francis and force him to fix his disfigurement. Deadpool not only has superhuman strength, speed, and healing abilities, but an ass-load of guns and knives at his disposal. That and the help of X-Men Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead.

Deadpool’s one-liners and funny moments are easily the movie’s best features. Whether he’s glad Francis is wearing brown pants or he’s sarcastically offering to help Francis’s balding henchman lure children into his windowless van, there’s always a reason to laugh your ass off throughout the movie. It’s impossible to list every zinger this movie has to offer, because my review would be longer than the first Game of Thrones book. Yes, this movie has its downer moments, the cancer diagnosis and torture scenes being among them. But even in the darkest, most depressing parts of the movie, there’s another profanity-laced tirade around the corner. Whoever wrote the dialogue for this movie deserves a medal. And an Oscar. And the keys to the city. And a key to the playboy mansion. And…whatever the hell he wants!

And because it’s a marvel superhero movie, it has to have a hefty amount of violence. But due to its R rating, there’s a lot more freedom to splatter some blood everywhere. For example, Deadpool can spell out Francis’s name using the dead carcasses of his soldiers. He can cut off one guy’s head with a sword and soccer kick it into another guy’s head. He can use one bullet to splatter three different guys’ heads at the same time. He can pull out all of the martial arts tricks he wants, including some that would make Jackie Chan crap his pants. Word to the wise: if you want to keep your bones and your blood where they belong, don’t screw around with Deadpool. Don’t kidnap his girlfriend, don’t torture him, don’t make his face look like a giant scrotum, and don’t outclass him in his witty dialogue. Actually, it’s damn near impossible to do the last item on that list, but you get the point. Right?

The fact that Deadpool is a huge departure from regular Marvel movies is enough to earn an extra credit grade. Sure, any movie can be R-rated, but only Deadpool can make you laugh, cry, and giddy with deliciously violent excitement at the same time. And while you’re watching, enjoy the strategically placed soundtracks of DMX and Wham on the same album. You might as well make a greatest hits CD with Skillet and Marilyn Manson on the same CD too. Or Rage Against the Machine and Ted Nugent. Or…okay, that’s enough for now. The point is, Deadpool has earned every one of its five stars and there’s nothing anybody can do to take that happiness away from me. If you want to cry over the filthy language and sexual dialogue, Wade Wilson will be happy to drink your tears with a shot of rum. Congratulations, Deadpool, for being an overly awesome movie that exceeded expectations!

Wolf's Cannonball

Little Red skipped and hopped through the forest with a wicker picnic basket in hand and a sunshine smile on her face. Her red cloak and hood flapped like a flag in the morning wind while goose bumps formed on her arms from the chilly weather. After a lengthy summer of boiling hot weather, a gentle breeze was most certainly welcome. By the time Red reached the top of the hill, she gazed into the distance with a star-struck expression and said, “My, what big eyes you have! You dead bastard!”

Her innocent aura was replaced with a menacing scowl as she pulled the hood over her face and knelt down to unload her picnic basket. Instead of delicious treats for grandma, Red pulled out pieces of a sniper rifle and assembled them with military quickness. She laid on her stomach and peered through the scope to acquire her target. Even with so many trees standing in her way, the target was as clear as the morning weather. “That bounty money is as good as mine, motherfucker!” she said with a sadistic grin.

Within Little Red Sniper’s crosshairs was the Big Bad Wolf himself, the hairy beast moving gracefully with martial arts movements. Every spin kick and palm strike would have made the legendary Bruce Lee proud. One of his spin kicks managed to slice one of the trees down. The thunderous crash to the ground made Little Red Sniper giggle and shake her head. “Pathetic. That’s what it is,” she said under her breath. “All that kung fu BS won’t mean a damn thing with a bullet in your head.”

After performing his kata, the Big Bad Wolf stood still and breathed intensely to relax his body while he spread his palms out. This wasn’t the kind of breath that could huff and puff and blow somebody’s house down, but it did let Little Red know that he worked hard to perfect his craft despite her unimpressed stare through the scope. The innocent-looking sniper focused her crosshairs right between Wolfie’s eyes and she took the perfect shot.

As the thunderous blast rang out through the forest, Little Red Sniper got up and celebrated her perfect shot with arm swinging dances and moonwalk shuffles. She giggled as she peered through the sniper scope to see just how badly Wolfie’s head exploded. “No fucking way,” she said to herself. “This is some sugar frosted bullshit!”

Wolfie had caught the bullet with his fangs and spit it out like chewed bubblegum. Instead of splattered brains, all she got was a tiny trickle of blood running down his furry chin. The martial arts genius’s deadly grin showed a dark side of him that the public was used to seeing. Even Little Red had been quivering in her boots upon seeing such a vicious expression.

With her rifle still concentrated on the Big Bad Wolf, Little Red slowly backed away while stuttering uh’s repeatedly. The further she backed away, the closer Wolfie got as he power walked across the forest to go in for the kill. Little Red kept backing away until she bumped into a muscular figure behind her and dropped to her knees, losing her rifle in the process.

When Little Red reached over shakily to pick up her weapon, she felt a death grip around the nape of her neck as it yanked her off the ground kicking and screaming. “Put me down, you big oaf! I’ll pop your head open once I get my rifle!” she threatened.

The massive hand turned her around and now she was face to face with yet another razor sharp mouth and bloodlust glare. The orange flannel shirt, the baggy blue jeans, the black combat boots, and the blood-covered axe, not to mention the filthy green skin: they all spelled the presence of Hacksaw the grumpy lumberjack. The orc leaned his face closer to Red’s and said in a throaty voice, “You ain’t gonna do shit!” before tossing her aside easier than a beach ball.

After Little Red bounced off of a tree stump, Hacksaw kicked the sniper rifle away into the nearby bushes while the Big Bad Wolf leapt onto the battlefield with grace and dexterity. Wolfie did some marital arts punches and tornado kicks in the air to warm himself up, but only received a belly laugh from an indifferent Hacksaw. “You think any of that shit’s going to matter once I chop your goddamn head off?” he mockingly asked. “I don’t give a damn about your big bad reputation; that money is mine!”

Hacksaw charged at Wolfie and swung his axe like a barbarian possessed by eye-bulging rage. While that battle was going on, Little Red wiped the dirt out of her eyes and slowly crawled towards the bushes where her sniper rifle was kicked. “Almost there…” she said weakly before Hacksaw accidentally stepped on her hand and made it sound like he walked on packing peanuts.

“Yeouch!” hollered Little Red as she pulled her hand out and felt it pulsate with redness like she was in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Watch where you’re stepping, you giant sack of turds!”

Hacksaw grabbed Little Red by her crunchy wrist and slammed her against Wolfie, sending him flying backwards against a tree, which crackled and smashed upon impact. After tossing Little Red aside once again, Hacksaw raised his axe to the sky and shouted, “Yes! That bounty money’s mine! Ha-ha! I did it! Woo!”

Little Red once again attempted to crawl towards her weapon, broken hand and all. This time she was sure she would retrieve it. It was inches away from her good fingertips. Victory would be hers and bullets would fly everywhere in this god forsaken forest. Her fingertips were on the barrel when she felt a hard boot come down across her spinal cord. She yelped in pain and howled like a puppy while Hacksaw pulled her up by her blond locks.

“I’ve had just about all I can stand of you, you crazy bitch!” grunted Hacksaw with his axe raised in the air. “All I wanted was a nice beachside vacation for my family and you’re out here trying to take that shit away from me! That pretty little head of yours is coming off today!”

Little Red spit out blood and protested, “Beachside vacation?! You’re doing all of this to get sand in your ass?! My grandmother has cancer, for god’s sake! Hell, there are lots of guys out there who need that bounty money more than you do! There will always be time to get salt water in your nose and sand in your G-string! My grandmother has six weeks to live! I need this money, damn it!”

“Ah, who cares about that old hag?!” grumbled Hacksaw. “She would have been dead even if she didn’t have cancer! She’s probably so old that she has Jesus on speed dial!”

“So this is it, huh?” said a familiar grunting voice. Once Hacksaw recognized it as an arm-folded Big Bad Wolf, he released his grip on Little Red and allowed her to scoot away while holding her lower back. Wolfie continued with, “You two are finally going to be the ones who take me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit? Of course they’re going to pin it on me. I’m a fucking wolf! Never mind that the two of you are killing each other over some ill-gotten reward. Never mind that children go missing every day around here. Never mind that not one body was found out in these woods. Not one fucking body!”

A beat of silence befell the bounty hunters as their expressions softened and their shoulders slacked. Wolfie wasn’t done yet. “I know how the so-called justice system works. It can’t be called justice at all. The guy with the sharpest teeth and the martial arts skills is automatically guilty despite there being no fucking evidence of any crime. How dare you judge me based on a fake reputation! How dare you come at me looking for a shallow reward! If I wanted to waste my time with you guys, both of you would be dead as fried chicken by now!”

Wolfie stroked his chin and as a light bulb went off in his head. “Come to think of it, there is one technique I’d like to try, but it might actually kill me, it’s so powerful. I’ve been working on it for years. If I could get it right, both of you would be dead ass motherfuckers and I could finally live in peace. Yeah, that sounds about right…I call it the Wolf’s Cannonball!”

Holding her hands up in defeat, Little Red pleaded, “Now listen, Wolfie-Pie: you don’t need to do that shit. Both of us will get out of here and leave you alone. Hell, we’ll probably start a petition to get that bounty off your head. Right, Hacksaw?”

“Wolf’s Cannonball, my ass! I ain’t gonna help him with a damn thing! He needs to die and if you’re too much of a sissy to collect that bounty, I’m going to do it!” shouted Hacksaw as he charged at Wolfie with his axe yet again despite Little Red’s protests.

In defense the Big Bad Wolf backed up Hacksaw by curling into a ball and spinning in the air with mystic blue energy surrounding him. Little Red crawled on the ground like a snail while Hacksaw tripped over everything in fear until he was on his knees crouching into the fetal position. The faster Wolfie spun in the air, the wider the blue energy spread and the tighter Little Red and Hacksaw clutched their prone bodies. In a moment of desperation, the two hunters even hugged each other knowing their financial wishes wouldn’t come true and their lives would be over.

In a blinding flash of blue light, a jet engine wooshing noise flew past Little Red Sniper and Hacksaw and had them screaming like torture victims in hell. They screamed even louder as their skin boiled and their hairs stood up. The energy got hotter and the light was bright enough to damage eyes worse than a solar eclipse. And then…total darkness. All that remained of Little Red and Hacksaw’s pain were migraine-sized headaches and pulsating eyeballs.

“You can let go of me now, Hacksaw,” said Little Red Sniper in a sheepish voice. The orc lumberjack obeyed and the two of them slowly rose to their feet while dusting themselves off. Once Little Red popped her spine back into place, she and Hacksaw saw that the Wolf’s Cannonball had left a deep trail beneath them and that trail was leading into the city. They could see the castle from here as it exploded into a bright blue fire before being sucked up in a gigantic energy beam blasting into the sky.

“So that’s the Wolf’s Cannonball. He didn’t want to use it on a couple of bounty hunters. He wanted to take down the justice system. Eh, makes sense,” said Little Red with shrugged shoulders.

“I bet that castle as a shit load of gold in it somewhere. Government buildings usually do. There’s probably enough in there for both of us to get what we want,” said Hacksaw.

“Are you suggesting that we loot the castle?” asked Little Red in minor shock. Once Hacksaw smiled and winked at her, she smiled back and said, “For the first time in my life, I like the way you think!”

The two bounty hunters wrapped their arms around each other and walked from the scene. Hacksaw asked, “Don’t you want your sniper rifle?”

“Meh. I’ll just buy a new one. Maybe I’ll get a rocket launcher, who knows?” said Little Red nonchalantly.

“I also like the way you think!”

Article

(Sarcastic parody of pop science.)

VERSE 1

Ninety percent of drinks are made with Xantham Gum

I don’t even know where that terminology comes from

All I know is that it could lead to the biggest stroke

Even though this article was probably written as a joke

CHORUS

I read an article on the internet X4

VERSE 2

Eighty percent of fat people are going to die

The rest of us are immortal; why would the article lie?

People who eat kale are going to live forever

The rest of the population will always say never

The sample size is only about thirty-five people

Yet we assume all humans are created equal

The results have been skewed in our own favor

Because avocado butter is the new life saver

CHORUS

I read an article on the internet X4

VERSE 3

The internet sheeple hang on every word we say

Because they don’t get their news any other way

Seventy percent of assholes in laboratory coats

Are trustworthy enough to dispel any single hoax

A hundred percent of people who blindly follow

Have toothpick spines and skulls that are hollow

Science is a business, everything we say is true

Farting cures cancer and even the moody blues

EXTENDED CHORUS

I read an article on the internet

I read with undivided interest

I believed it like I was in a cult

I bought everything they sold

I read an article on a website

I eat seaweed every damn night

I drink smoothies made of fish cum

At least it doesn’t have Xantham Gum

Pills

CHORUS 1

Pills, pills, they’re good for your brain!

Keeping your ass from going insane!

Pills, pills, they’re good for your boner!

Keeping your ass from being a loner!

Pills, pills, they’re good for your heart!

Keeping it from being torn apart!

Pills, pills, come and get some!

The side effects are so much fun!

VERSE 1

Ask your doctor if it’s right for you

Ask your lawyer if you should sue

Ask your banker if you need a loan

Ask your therapist if you’re all alone

Ask your family for a helping hand

Ask your shelter for food that’s canned

So many questions that need to be answered

Side effects include diarrhea and cancer

CHORUS 2

Pills, pills, they’re good for your soul!

So what if you feel empty and cold?!

Pills, pills, they’re good for your penis!

Make it so big, it’s seen from Venus!

Pills, pills, they’re good for your liver!

So what if they make you vomit and quiver?!

Pills, pills, come get a prescription!

Fighting yourself is a war of attrition!

VERSE 2

Don’t take the pills if you want to live

Another prescription to write and give

Side effects may include a big ass stroke

This is all just a prank; it’s all just a joke

We love watching you shiver and fall

We don’t care which lawyer you call

We’ve got more power than a mighty king

With our kind of money, we can do anything

CHORUS 3

Pills, pills, take them for thrills!

Who cares about the pile of medical bills!

Pills, pills, to worsen your ills!

We are the ones who legally kill!

Pills, pills, come get your fill!

Whine all about it on Dr. Phil!

We’re the doctors, we own your ass!

A gallbladder stone is what you’ll pass!

VERSE 3

They could be labeled with an E or V

Swallow them all with sadistic glee

Taste the rainbow like a bag of Skittles

Use your hard-on before it gets little

FINAL LINE

Ask your doctor if Bullshitlexia is right for you.

"Swamplandia!" by Karen Russell

BOOK TITLE: Swamplandia!

AUTHOR: Karen Russell

YEAR: 2011

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Magic Realism

GRADE: Mixed

In the Everglades-based theme park Swamplandia, Hilola Bigtree wrestles alligators for a live crowd of stereotypical tourists. The entertaining action is enough to keep the Bigtree clan financially stable. And then one tragedy after another strikes the family. Hilola gets cancer and passes away. Hilola’s husband, simply known as Chief Bigtree, ventures out to the mainland for a “business trip” (which feels more like crazy abandonment). Grandpa Sawtooth becomes senile and is confined to a nursing home. The eldest son Kiwi tries to earn the minimum wage at a rival theme park called World of Darkness. The middle child Oscela becomes obsessed with dark magic and runs off with a ghost to marry him. And now it’s up to Ava Bigtree, Hilola’s daughter and understudy, to bring them all back together and save Swamplandia from becoming foreclosed on.

If I could use one word to describe the mood of this novel, it’s heartbreaking. One moment of depression snowballs into several other tearjerking moments. Losing a mother is bad enough. But then the financial burdens stemming from her loss become all too real for any reader. We’re currently living in an economy where homes are being taken away, people are becoming broke from healthcare costs, and the only people who are hiring the new blood are minimum wage employers. Sometimes, working to exhaustion isn’t the answer no matter how many times the Republican Party says it is. In fact, exhaustion is what makes this novel so depressing, because we see the aftermath of trying to scrape together enough money and stay alive. It’s stressful to think about and I wouldn’t wish this kind of poverty on my worst enemies. In terms of putting together a realistic picture of economic worries, Swamplandia does that job perfectly.

I know the World of Darkness theme park is supposed to be a horrible place to work judging from how poorly Kiwi Bigtree is treated by everyone there. It is, after all, a hell-themed amusement park. The swimming pools are dyed red (to resemble fire), the merchandise has devil horns on it, the food is fattening (because gluttony is a sin), and all of the rides are basically comparable to being swallowed by a ferocious, fiery demon. While I condemn the working conditions of the World of Darkness, I praise Karen Russell for inventing such a place in her novel. I am a dark fantasy nerd and the diabolic themes of this place make me think of barreling through Diablo II: Lord of Destruction dungeons with a dual-wielding barbarian. But I know why Karen Russell had this theme park in her story: because she wanted to parody Disneyworld and hold a mirror up to their horrible working conditions. It tickles my dark fantasy urges and depresses me at the same time.

However, there is one thing that irks me about this novel and it’s the reason I’m giving it a three-star review instead of a four or five-star one. The pacing of Swamplandia feels like I’m dragging my eyes across sandpaper just to make it to the next chapter. In other words, it’s slow and it’s tiring. I don’t know if I should owe the exhausting pace to the purple prose writing style, the obscure references, the over-thinking and overanalyzing, or the constant dips into the past. I can’t quite pinpoint what makes this book such a slow read, but if Karen Russell wanted me to feel just as exhausted as the main characters after they work their fingers to the bone to protect their theme park, then mission accomplished. It may have been by design, but that doesn’t mean it’s an effective technique.

If you want to read a story about Murphy’s Law on steroids and have the patience of a saint, I would gladly recommend Swamplandia to you. A warning to the wise: if you manage to make it towards the middle and you haven’t figured out if this is a fantasy or modern day drama book, I don’t blame you. The only reason why I know it’s labeled “Magic Realism” is because I looked it up on Wikipedia. Maybe the genre confusion is all part of the suspense. That would have been a great tactic if the suspense wasn’t reserved for the near-end of the book. A mixed grade goes to Karen Russell’s debut novel. Will I ever pick up another Karen Russell book again? I haven’t decided yet.

I Shouldn't Have Fallen In Love With Her

Valentine’s Day, Singles Awareness Day, VD, SAD, it didn’t matter what Alex McKenzie wanted to call it, because it wouldn’t change the theme of February 14^th: lovey-dovey ooey-gooey romance, something he knew little about. God, I hate this fucking day, Alex thought to himself. With the hood of his black My Darkest Days sweater pulled over his head, sunglasses over his eyes, and “Perfect” by, you guessed it, My Darkest Days playing in his ear buds, he was prepared for a long night of shopping at St. Vincent’s Drug Store.

He stepped past the automatic glass door and languidly walked up and down the isles looking for some sweet confectionary goodness to drown his sorrows. In his mind, that was the only thing Valentine’s Day was good for. Not for kisses, not for hugs, but for candy. The taste of a candy cane was much more pleasing to the tongue than a horny woman’s mouth. But candy canes were only a small portion of what he put in his shopping basket. Peanut butter cups, crunchy hearts, chocolate mints, mmm-mmm-mmm!

Alex had been shopping for so long that he lost track of time. He was so focused on the delicious candies in his basket that he failed to notice it when the clerk was calling him out. A tap on the shoulder was a better idea and it actually got Alex’s attention. He pulled the buds out of his ears and turned off his MP3 player before turning his attention to the clerk.

The clerk would have made the perfect Valentine to any lucky guy. Her raven hair flowed down her slender shoulders and her benign smile lit up just about any room she was. She may have been walking around in a clerk’s apron the whole time, but it looked good on her anyways. Her nametag read “Vicki White”, but Alex’s darkened eyes were focused solely on her gorgeous face.

“Hi there!” said Vicki in her excited college girl voice. “Can I help you find anything today?”

“No thanks,” said Alex in an uncaring tone. “I have everything I need right here.”

As the heartbroken shopper turned around to look for even more candy to stockpile, he was interrupted by Vicki calling him, “Sir!” and turned around again. She said, “We don’t allow our customers to conceal their faces in our store. It’s nothing against you personally. In fact, I kind of like that My Darkest Days sweater you’ve got on! It’s just that we’ve been robbed before and we want to make sure everybody visible to the security cameras.”

“Listen, sweetheart,” said the hooded customer. “If you think I’m not capable of paying for these treats, then we can go to the counter right now and I’ll buy them right away. I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night. I promise.”

“Sir, please just do as I say,” said Vicki while she maintained her sweet grin.

“No, you don’t understand.”

“What do you mean I don’t understand?” Vicki started to say in a flirty voice, perfect for Valentine’s Day. “I bet you look good underneath all of that! Come on, just humor me for a minute.”

From there the two got in an unintelligible conversation as Vicki tried to physically remove Alex’s hood and Alex tried to brush her hands away. In this somewhat playful struggle, Alex leaned backwards slightly to avoid being touched and his hood just slid off of his head. What Vicki saw took the smile right off of her face: a completely bald head with a surgical scar running from where the hairline should be to the back of his skull. The secret was further exposed when the now despondent customer took his sunglasses off and crushed them in his hands, revealing he had no eyebrows.

Vicki White held her trembling hands to her shocked face when she slowly backpedaled into the checkout counter without looking. “Sir, I’m really sorry about that. I was just following protocol. I had to make sure you weren’t suspicious.”

“Protocol, huh?” said Alex McKenzie as he paced up to the counter and dropped his overloaded basket on the scanner. “Did those security cameras get a good enough shot of me?” Vicki trembled in fear and couldn’t respond. “Did your paparazzi get a good shot of the scar on my fucking head? How about the fact that I have no goddamn hair on my head or face? That has to be the shot of the century right there! I’m sure some tabloid magazine will pay good money for that kind of footage!”

As Alex drew closer to her, Vicki sat down in the fetal position and planted her back against the checkout counter. The bald man continued his angry speech. “Brain cancer, sweetheart. Brain cancer. I’ve had it since I was a senior in high school. I’m 100% cancer free now, but I wasn’t back then when it really counted. I looked just like I do now except that I wore a hairpiece to my senior prom.”

He placed a tender hand on Vicki’s vibrating face when he said, “The girl I took to the prom looked a lot like you. Very pretty. No, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She was like an angel that descended from the heavens. Her jealous ex-boyfriend slapped me in the back of the head and knocked my hairpiece off. She saw me for what I really was: a cancer patient. She knew I could have died any moment and decided she didn’t want that on her conscience. So now she has something else on her conscience: breaking up with me the next night. Seeing me die would have been too heartbreaking for her. Seeing me lonely and humiliated, on the other hand, would have been JUST FUCKING DANDY!!”

Alex’s face was in Vicki’s as he stared intensely into her beautiful teary eyes. She was breathing heavily like she was fearing for her life. But as the ex-cancer patient backed up, he revealed himself to be just as harmless as she was, though he wasn’t done yet with his tirade. “Valentine’s Day: a day where we love each other and have mind-blowing sex until the sun comes up. Meanwhile, all the heartbroken single people can go straight to hell for all anyone else cares. I’m buying all that candy because eating is the only thing that gives me pleasure anymore. Sure, it’s not what everybody does on this special day, but it’s pretty damn good to me! So go ahead, honey-bunch: ring me up so I can get my ugly ass out of your store!”

Vicki grabbed onto the counter for support and gingerly pulled herself to a standing position with her legs shaking uncontrollably. She stumbled around the counter to the cash register and started to scan Alex’s items. Her hands were shaking as well and there were times when the price scanner didn’t register. She wasn’t scared for herself anymore. She was scared for this poor soul standing in front of her.

After scanning the same candy cane over and over again, Vicki finally got frustrated and threw it on the ground where it shattered upon impact. She breathed deeply while Alex was watching her with an angry look on his face. She said, “You say you’re 100% cancer free, right? Well, shouldn’t that be something to celebrate? By surviving that horrible disease, you showed your shallow-assed prom date that her stupid decision was all for nothing.” She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her manicured hand and said, “You’re not ugly to me. You’re beautiful. You’re a warrior. Don’t let anybody tell you differently.”

Alex sarcastically clapped his hands and said, “Well, bravo for you! But there’s just one problem: I don’t believe a goddamn word you say. I think you’re just saying those things because you work in customer service and you don’t want to be fired. Either that, or you suddenly have the urge to feel sorry for me. You don’t have to give me sympathy, or even understanding for that matter. Just ring up my candy and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

Vicki picked up a package of peanut butter cups and said, “These are not good for you, especially if you’re trying to stay cancer free. I can’t in all good conscience sell these to you. Hell, I might as well give you a big ass carton of cigarettes to go with these.” A beat of emotional silence fell between them before she said, “But I can give you something else.”

“You had the chance to prove yourself to me and now you won’t even ring me up like you’re supposed to. That’s a hypocrisy if I’ve ever seen one. Seriously, what could you possibly give me right now that would show me how much you care, given the fact that I’ve got the world’s worst scar on the top of my head?!”

Instead of the sweet taste of chocolate and peanut butter, Alex McKenzie got the sweet taste of Vicki White’s lips and tongue as she pulled his face in for a deep, genuine, romantic kiss. Rather than feeling disgusted at Alex’s so-called “ugliness”, Vicki smiled her Hollywood smile for him one more time and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

After a while of intense contemplation, Alex said, “Happy Valentine’s Day” back and properly introduced himself by his first and last name. It was only right that Vicki give such an intense kiss to someone she knew the name of. After all, there would be plenty more where that came from!

"The Fault In Our Stars" by John Green

Getting my heart torn out of my chest because of a piece of literature isn’t anything new for me. It happened with books like “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” and “Love Letters to the Dead”. The legacy of foo-foo heartache continues with “The Fault In Our Stars” by John Green. Any romance story has the potential to be heart-wrenching. We all want love, we all want justice. But what happens when the two lovebirds are teenaged cancer patients? As a reader, you know tragedy is on the horizon. But is there any romantic justice near the end? It’s easy to believe with all the witty humor the book is laced with, but if you want a definitive answer, you’ll have to read the book yourself, which I highly recommend you do.

Within all 314 pages of this young adult novel, there are many themes John Green touches on: positivity, negativity, the afterlife, sympathy, empathy, and as many Christian bloggers will have you believe, religion. The latter of which is debatable to me. While is true the characters of the book openly mention God and heaven as ways to comfort the cancer patients, I think of it not as jamming religion down the reader’s throat, but rather as keeping an open mind to the possibilities of what lies beyond this life. Truth is, Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Waters (the cancer-stricken lovebirds in question) don’t know what awaits them when the cancer eventually kills them. There is, however, an extreme fear of oblivion and not leaving anything behind when he’s gone on Gus’ part.

Which brings me to yet another theme John Green touches on: immortalization. In other words, being remembered after we’re long gone. It’s a theme I have an obsession with myself. Hazel has a negative view of immortalization since she believes despite all of our efforts to remember each other, the sun will eventually explode and wipe everything away. Augustus wants to be remembered despite everything and he agonizes over it near the end of the novel.

Which then brings me to another point the book makes: living a full life and being immortalized doesn’t necessarily mean you have to create and produce things for society on a relentless basis. Sometimes all you have to do is take it all in. It’s nice to give to the world, but we must remember to take as well. Go see those museum artifacts. Go to that rock concert. Watch that movie at the theater. Read that book. Without people who take things in, what’s the point in producing anything? There’s a reason artists like to put their work on the internet: they want appreciation and appreciation can only come from the people who view their work. This is a very poignant argument made by John Green and his novel.

By the book’s end, yes, I was heartbroken. I even said on Good Reads I needed superglue for my heart. There’s somebody on Urban Dictionary who says being hit in the face with the hardcover version of the book doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as reading it. While it is true reading “The Fault In Our Stars” is a beautifully painful experience, it’s also something everybody can learn from. The philosophical arguments and the love between Hazel and Augustus are great teachers when it comes to the education of life. If you take nothing else away from this book, then take this way: love with all your might before it’s too late.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Excuse me, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re having way too much fun and it’s making everybody uncomfortable.”

-Owen from “The Way Way Back”-

"Dewey" by Vicki Myron

Spencer, Iowa is a small farming community that has endured a lot of heartache over the past century. An economic recession, an economic depression, a raging fire, and the generally hard work of being a farmer have all taken their toll on this town. In spite of everything, Spencer stood tall and endured.

One of Spencer’s citizens and the author of this book, Vicki Myron, has also endured a lot in her life. Aside from the farmer’s lifestyle, she had a failed marriage with an alcoholic husband, she depended on welfare to see her through college, and she suffered through her family’s genetic curse of cancer as it took many of her loved ones‘ lives as well as attempted to take hers.

How exactly does any person, let alone a whole town, get through it all? With the help of a little kitty pie named Dewey. The teeny tiny cutie was found shivering, cold, and alone in the drop-off box of the library where Vicki Myron worked.

Wrapping him in a blanket and nursing him back to health was just the start of a beautiful friendship between Dewey and Vicki. In spite of the hardships he suffered in that drop-off box, Dewey was a total extrovert and wanted the love and attention of everybody coming and going through the library. Word of Dewey‘s beautiful aura spread throughout the small town of Spencer and eventually the entire world.

How could a teeny tiny kitty pie like Dewey bring so much attention to the lonely old Spencer, Iowa? Because that‘s what cuddle muffins like him do. He wasn‘t just a library cat. He was a beacon of love for a world full of brokenhearted families. Just putting a hand on his fluffy fur was enough to send waves of joy and happiness through the body and soul of the one petting him.

His legacy of love lasted for a little under two decades. He lived a long and joyful life. But like all good things, his time on earth had come to an end. Even though he was already old and sickly, it still came as a depressing shock to the world that he had to be put down and cremated to ashes. Vicki Myron was so saddened by the loss of her beautiful kitty that she retired from library work.

Whatever magic Dewey was conjuring up, it was enough to make his biography the most inspirational, heartwarming, and heartbreaking bestseller in recent memory. Even if you’re not a cat person, you can still appreciate this tale of fighting through adversity and becoming stronger for the experience.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There’s a group in California that wants to make suicide a federal offense punishable by death. That’s like punishing somebody for being on a hunger strike by sending them to bed with no supper.”

-Bill Engvall-