Simone Biles: Gold Medal Magnet and Humble Pie Waitress

 

Anette Olzon vs. Garrison's Autism

 

I didn't actually go to a Q&A hosted by Anette Olzon, but I do rack up a lot of chuckles by refusing to speak.

Hulk Hogan

 

My Heroes Are Assholes

 VERSE 1

My heroes sip champagne from a sunken tub

Their sins can’t be scrubbed with bubbly-bubs

Put dark lords in boxes, I’ll give you my balls

Shoot a few foxes, you gave me The Wall

Slag off on the trans, you gave me an edge

Grab a chick’s cans, you pulled me off the ledge

Get away with murder, you gave me new life

Shame those who eat burgers, you parasocial wife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

VERSE 2

My heroes are older, now they’ve grown colder

Their hatred of young people only gets bolder

No consequences when they kick down defenses

Only Law & Order for those with poverty expenses

To all the foot soldiers, it’s called Cancel Culture

A dog whistle for the machinegun holders

There will be no justice, social or otherwise

Just another day of twisting the butterfly knife

CHORUS

My heroes are assholes

It’s not worth the hassle

To get me an autograph

My heroes are bitches

They get left in stitches

Look in the mirror and laugh

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

BRIDGE

There’s only one hero I can truly rely on

Me, myself, and I, it’s the hill I’ll die on

Others paved the way when I was a boy

I walk that road as a man without joy

FINAL LINES

I miss the days of naivety

I miss the days of naivety

Everybody's Got One Except Me

VERSE 1

Is she a piece of eye candy or a piece of ass?

The summer solstice has not yet passed

Put her in a bikini so tiny and teeny

After she upchucks a plate of tortellini

The magazine told her that she’s not worth it

Unless she makes a thousand dollar makeup purchase

The media likes to play with her battered brain

Her Stockholm Syndrome is for you to maintain

PRE-CHORUS 1

It feels good to have a story

That nobody is ignoring

To have the scars tell your tale

Of how you’ll never fail

You got a lucky charm, my guy

And it always seems like…

CHORUS

Everybody’s got one except me

Everybody’s got one except me

Too lazy for basic empathy

Everybody’s got one except me

VERSE 2

You also got a job that pays by the millions

And your own fan base by the fucking billions

And a car that zooms down the autobahn

There’s no way your image isn’t more than a con

PRE-CHORUS 2

It feels good to live in comfort

Feels good to not be encumbered

To have your riches tell your legacy

Of how you haven’t a single enemy

You got a golden horseshoe, my dude

And this is my attitude…

CHORUS

Everybody’s got one except me

Everybody’s got one except me

Too lazy for basic empathy

Everybody’s got one except me

BRIDGE

They call you an influencer

With a case of affluenza

They call you a celebrity

The world’s methamphetamine

They call you a politician

Wall Street’s financial nutrition

They call you God, because why fucking not?

An undefeated streak is all you were taught

EXTENDED CHORUS

Everybody’s got one except me

Everybody’s got one except me

Too lazy for basic empathy

Everybody’s got one except me

Everybody’s jealous except you

Everybody’s jealous except you

Everything you say is true

Everybody’s jealous except you

Parasocial

VERSE 1
The beacon of light I’ve been waiting for
A platonic friendship or something more?
One-sided romance from across the screen
Like I don’t know what parasocial means
We never talk, but I can still have dreams
About making this more than it seems
The real world doesn’t even compare
The real world doesn’t fucking care

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 2
I don’t have a knife or pepper spray
Yet you back the fuck up anyway
I would too, so I can’t blame you
Don’t know if I have a loose screw
Don’t know if I’m a creepy terrorist
No confidence and less arrogance
Where else am I supposed to go?
Got nothing here but wires and crows

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 3
I hate riding in cars in long traffic lines
I hate flying on planes for a long ass time
I hate riding on buses with dog logos
I hate riding on trains, it’s never solo
I don’t have the patience to see this through
Yet I yearn to be even closer to you
Back to the keyboard for another comment
In hopes we still have friendship in common

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

FINAL VERSE
Growing older
Growing colder
You’ve moved on
Still I wait so long

Stalking Is Not the Answer

I haven’t watched WWE since November of 2018, when they put on that horrible episode of Monday Night Raw where Drake Maverick peed on Bobby Roode’s robe. But I still like to stay in the loop via podcasts and You Tube channels. I sincerely hope Sonya Deville’s story gets the appropriate amount of coverage outside of the wrestling bubble. A few weeks ago, a disgusting bastard by the name of Phillip Thomas attempted to kidnap Sonya in her Lutz, Florida home. For years he had sent her creepy messages on social media that were of the lovey-dovey variety mixed with suicidal threats and mentions of wanting to murder her family. So what does he do to satisfy his romantic urges? In addition to sending the freaky messages, he showed up to her house one night carrying a knife, pepper spray, duct tape, zip ties, and god knows what else. He planned on kidnapping Sonya Deville, but she got the hell out of there and the police promptly arrested Phillip Thomas with a judge denying him bail.

Now…there are many ways in which you can show your appreciation for your favorite celebrities. Stalking and attempting to kidnap them is not one of them! Forgetting the fact that Sonya Deville is openly lesbian and therefore isn’t interested in men anyways, Phillip Thomas had no fucking chance with her by virtue of his creepy online behavior. He has even less of a chance with her now that he attempted to kidnap her. Haven’t you learned anything from being sickened while watching 365 Days? That Stockholm Syndrome fantasy shit doesn’t work! When Phillip Thomas showed up at Sonya Deville’s home with weapons and bondage equipment, she didn’t have stars in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was fucking terrified, as well she should be!

Having romantic feelings for a celebrity is nothing new to the world. It’s a relationship that could never work due to the imbalance of power, but we like to have fantasies anyways, because these fantasies make our hearts flutter and they give us extra pep in our step. We form parasocial relationships with the celebrities we love. Maybe the celebrity gives us roses. Maybe they squeeze our shoulders. Maybe they let us cradle our heads in their laps while they stroke our hair. But once the fantasy wears off, you begin to realize the impossibility of the fantasy and it depresses the shit out of you. You invested so much time and energy into this fantasy that when the rug gets pulled out from underneath, you’ve got nothing left but sadness. If you feel like your celebrity crushes are interfering with your wellbeing, talk to somebody. Anybody. See a counselor. Confide in family and friends.

This phenomenon was especially true for me when I studied at Western Washington University from 2007 to 2009. I was a socially awkward dweeb who had very little in the way of human interaction. So what did I do? I formed a parasocial relationship with Tarja Turunen, the former lead singer of Nightwish. Her lovely raven hair, her milky white skin, her cherry red lips, and that singing voice of an angel, oh my god, she was so beautiful to me. My heart had the singing voice of an angel every time I laid eyes on her. But when I cycled through my head all the loving ways we could interact, I quickly realized that I was still alone at WWU despite having a strong imagination. I had nothing but my fantasies. Fantasies are great, but they’re not tangible and don’t amount to anything in real life. But did I threaten to kidnap Tarja Turunen? Did I threaten to kill her husband Marcelo Cabuli? Did I show up to her home in Finland with duct tape and a hunting knife? Fuck no! That would be horrifying! If you claim to love someone as much as you do, you don’t show your love by threatening to slash them if they don’t have sex with you. That’s not love. That’s violence. In a real relationship, that’s domestic abuse and it would be grounds for not only divorce, but prison time.

Sonya Deville is a beautiful woman. She’s a brilliant character on WWE television. She’s got mixed-martial arts skills for days that will remind the audience of Wonder Woman. You want to know what she isn’t? Yours to kidnap and have sex with! You as a fan are not owed anything! You’re not owed sex and romance! If you want those things, you have to earn them by being sweet and empathetic and even then if the woman says no, you ought to listen. Sonya Deville is not going to say yes to someone who sends her disgusting messages on Twitter threatening to hurt her if she doesn’t give into him. I thought this point was made clear when pretty much every news outlet on the planet dissected Incel culture with a scalpel. We’re supposed to be past this shit. But people like Phillip Thomas didn’t get the message. Apparently, neither did the other Twitter trolls who sent Sonya Deville messages like, “I’m going to finish what Phillip started” and “My knife is bigger than Phillip’s.” How romantic! What a bunch of charming motherfuckers! Breakfast, meet floor!

Back at Summer Slam, Sonya Deville was written off of WWE television when she lost a No Disqualification Loser Leaves Town match to longtime rival Mandy Rose. She didn’t actually lose her job. It’s just a storyline excuse for her to sort things out legally and emotionally before getting back in the ring. She’ll be back one day. I’d like to think she’ll be back stronger than ever, but that’s not how psychological trauma works. That shit eats away at you like a cancer. There are triggers that will set you off. There are nightmares. There are moments where you’ll lose focus of what you’re doing, which isn’t an ideal scenario in a profession where you slam people on their backs for a living. Thanks a lot, Phillip Thomas. You traumatized Sonya Deville for life, all because you wanted a romance that never could have happened, lesbian status or not. That’s not love. That’s psychosis. Get some fucking help!

Being a celebrity of any kind, whether you’re an attractive woman or otherwise, will open up the floodgates for stalking and harassment. This shit has been going on long before the internet was a thing. So what should you do if you find yourself in this situation? Do you hire security guards? Do you buy a weapon? Do you move to another home? Do you stay off of social media? Do you get a restraining order? There’s no one-size-fits-all solution to this problem. Sometimes it’s multiple things at once, which is something the celebrity in question will consider as anxiety floods their minds with all the possibilities of scenarios. Hell, you don’t have to be a celebrity to experience stalking. The reason for stalking doesn’t even have to be romantic or sexual. There are some sick pieces of shit out there and the sooner they’re locked up, the better off we’ll all be. If you find yourself obsessing over someone, don’t become the next Phillip Thomas. Get help. Reach out to someone you trust. That’s my public service announcement for the day. Stalking is not the answer. It never is.

Chains of Codependence

***CHAINS OF CODEPENDENCE***

I’d like to preface this blog entry by saying that I’m by no means an expert when it comes to matters of the heart. Shocking, right? But it’s true. I’ve only been in two relationships my whole life and they’re over now, so any experience and wisdom I do have is incredibly limited. So when I write a piece of nonfiction about romance, I’m doing so from the point of view of a maladaptive daydreamer and a serial crusher. I’ve got a gazillion crushes going on in my head right now, mostly You Tubers and internet friends. Who are these crushes? Well, on that front, I’ll have to zip it, lock it, and put it in my pocket. Wouldn’t want to weird anybody out and make these lovely ladies keep their distance from me forever, Corona Virus aside. That’s always been a fear of mine whenever I open up and talk about romance or sex: that people will think I’m being creepy. I’m going to word this blog entry as carefully as possible, which is something I should have done with my entry about bastardizing fan fiction characters, but didn’t, and now it’s scrubbed from the internet. Ready? Here we go.

Serial crushing can be lots of fun as long as you’re doing it for entertainment purposes only. You can daydream about holding hands together. You can fantasize about your crush giving you a hug after a particularly draining cry spell. Me? I like to pretend I’m resting my head on my crush’s lap while she strokes my hair. By then I will have already showered and my hair will be softer than a Humane Society kitty baby. These kinds of fantasies can bring a smile to your face…until you start to bemoan the idea of never being able to attain a relationship with said crushes. I’ve done this before as you can tell. And the more you bemoan this idea, the more depressed you become. This is what I like to call the “Chains of Codependence”. Imagine that: being codependent on somebody who not only barely knows you, but also wouldn’t want a relationship anyways. Usually when people are codependent, it’s with someone who’s physically there. But if it’s a long distance stranger…my god, does that shit hurt.

But if you talk yourself through this logically, it doesn’t have to hurt anymore. You’re crushing on someone whom you have limited knowledge of, whether it’s a You Tuber, a celebrity, an athlete, or whatever. You only see the best version of that person unless they voluntarily become vulnerable, which is rare in and of itself. And because you’ve only seen their best side, you don’t often see them at their darkest. They may have views that you strongly disagree with. They may be drama queens when the cameras aren’t rolling. They could have a criminal secret that you won’t be aware of until it’s too late. This is information you can obtain if you’re in a solid relationship with someone. What you do with that information could negate your schoolboy crush from so long ago. You see memes floating around social media that say, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” While this might set off a few red flags, there’s actually a lot of truth in it should you decide to commit to a relationship.

As long as you’re aware of the illusion in front of you and as long as your chains of codependence are broken, you can have a lot of fun serial crushing on long distance targets. Fill your mind with happy thoughts of you and your crush together. Play your favorite romantic song while you’re zoning out. Write a poem or short story about the experience (without using the person’s real name, of course). I wrote a poem not too long ago called Hand Massage and it’s about, you guessed it, smearing lotion over my crush’s hands as a way not only to heal her cracked skin, but also to relax her and earn her trust. Hand Massage ended up being a favorite poem of mine in recent memory, in a sea of marginally acceptable ones. I was open, honest, unafraid, and most importantly, I didn’t sound like a total creep. That’s a small victory in my book. Even the smallest victories will be vital in the never ending war against your own mind.

In March alone, I’ve had so many days of autistic and schizophrenic burnout that my writing output has been minimal at best. During these boring days of lying in bed and doing jack shit until the tiredness passes, I like to keep my imagination fresh by daydreaming of…whatever comes to mind. I’ve had thoughts about my own stories, I’ve had positive thoughts, evil ones, and yes, romantic ones. With the current Corona Virus spreading like wildfire all over the goddamn planet, my fantasies will be more important now than they’ve ever been. Movie theaters are closed, rock concerts are being canceled, public life in general has screeched to a grinding halt. As long as I’m staying home waiting for both the virus and my burnout to subside, I’m going to have my thoughts to keep me busy for the time being. Whoever said, “Thinking is the best way to travel” was probably living in my hometown of Port Orchard and had nothing to do whether the virus was spreading or not.

By all means, daydream until you’re ready to face this maddening world yet again. You can get attached to your crushes, but don’t get so attached that your happiness depends entirely on them. Have fun with your downtime. The world will come back to life soon enough. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

The last time I wrote a chapter of Beautiful Monster was either March 1^st or 2^nd and I spent so long getting it pumped out that I began to doubt my abilities as a writer. I began to question whether or not I was being too cautious in my approach. Even now I’m debating with myself about whether the next chapter, number ten, will be written with caution and slowness or reckless abandon and quickness. No matter which style I choose, I hope I can remember all of my talking points this time. I’m going to need them. In this chapter, Windham and Tarja venture into Devon Bay, one of the Atwood Queendom’s major cities, so that they can keep warm in a hotel room during the freezing weather. If you’re going to make “Get a room!” jokes, get them out of your system, because there will be nothing sexy about what Windham does in this chapter with a Smoke Wagon XT, the medieval equivalent of a handgun. Good thing Ordell Robbie from Jackie Brown isn’t giving him access to firearms. Otherwise, he just might have to “absolutely, positively kill every last motherfucker in the room”.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Walking home with you last night, you said the world is beautiful and how things look that way when you’re in love. I love this world. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I opened up the letter that the postman gave to me this morning. Had to stop myself from shouting out, “I love this world!” When you’re in my arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. I want to be there when the age of love has come again. Tell me all about yourself and how you came to me like in a dream. And every night I dream of you. I dream of you. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. Don’t ask me where or when the time for us will come again. I sit and watch the sun go down. And in the darkness there’s no sound while in the sky tonight the stars all cry, “I love you!” Are they crying out over you? ‘Cause you’re in my arms. Is this heaven? ‘Cause the story starts and ends with you.”

-The Moody Blues singing “Is This Heaven?”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

You could totally use the above song as fodder for one of your romantic daydreams with your gazillion crushes. I know I do.

It's Okay to Be Single

***IT’S OKAY TO BE SINGLE***

Valentine’s Day is on the horizon, a horizon covered by about ten inches of falling snow, by the way. For those who are single, Valentine’s Day is the hardest holiday to get through because it seems as though your non-existent relationship status is being rubbed in your face. I know this, because I too am single and I hated this holiday for the longest time. I wish someone had told me back in those romantically lonely days that…it’s okay to be single. I know it’s hard for some people to believe that the world won’t judge you if you are, but if it’s a comfort to you at all, I’m the very last person in this world who will judge you for being single. I won’t even judge you for being a virgin. Involuntarily celibate is an entirely different story, but still, you get my drift.

When you learn to let go of this idea that romance is a necessity, you’ll feel as though the weight of the world is finally off of your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you can’t get into a relationship somewhere down the line, but if you obsess over it all the time, then it’ll hurt you emotionally. A lot of the pain from my university days stemmed from being single and wanting someone I could never have. I crushed on Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish, and it hurt me constantly that I couldn’t have her. Even when I crushed on women within my location and economic means, I was too shy to approach them because I didn’t want them to be offended by my presence. I carried this pain for a long time, long after I graduated from college.

The idea of letting go of my obsession was insane to me, which I now realize is an ironic thing for a schizophrenic like me to say, but oh well. Why was I so obsessed? Was it a combination of teenaged hormones and having my first slow dance at 15? Was it a long-distance relationship I had in 2002 and 2003 where I desperately wanted to close that gap? Was it my first kiss in 2014? Was it being seduced by random women at rock concerts in 2016 and 2018? Those brain chemicals are addictive as hell, I agree. Any addiction makes letting go a difficult thing.

But when I finally let go earlier this year, I asked myself a series of questions that had “duh” answers all along. Would being in a relationship truly make me happy? Would having sex for the first time be as magical as books and movies make it out to be? What exactly are the consequences supposed to be for staying single? When the time finally comes to be in a relationship, will I be prepared or will anxiety take over my senses? Truth is, not everyone who’s in a relationship is happy, as evidenced by divorce rates, abusive situations, and constant fighting even when things are going great. First time sex ends too quickly, or so I’ve heard. There are no consequences for being single. I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for a relationship, so my anxiety and nervousness around women won’t dissipate.

None of this means that I don’t believe in romance. It doesn’t mean that if a woman asked me on a date, I would automatically reject her. It simply means that I won’t form unhealthy crushes or obsess over something unattainable. My emotional health means everything to me. It’s the reason why I’m able to sustain a writing career and an overall peaceful life. If I’m constantly in a state of unhappiness, then I don’t care how many poems and stories I write, because I can never satiate those obsessive desires. I wrote three first draft novels this year, all of them centering on my obsession with romance. While I’m grateful for the creative exercises, I can get the same result and probably more work done if I’m happy about life instead of miserable.

It’s particularly bad when you’re in love with a celebrity, especially one that’s been around since your teenaged years. You spend all of this time pining over and dreaming of them. Even when you realize it could never be, you obsess more and more until it ruins your state of mind. You carry this unhappiness with you into adulthood and by that time your celebrity crush is much older than you are. Everybody ages, everybody moves on, and you must do so too.

If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what to do, just treat it like any other day of the week. Do some creative work. Get some reading done. Draw a picture. Order a pizza. Watch a movie. Do something other than give into your unrealistic obsessions. You’re responsible for your own happiness. Treat yourself kindly. Don’t beat yourself up. Take good care of your mind. You only get one in this lifetime, so be good to it and don’t drive yourself insane. If you must get into a relationship, keep it healthy and happy and don’t be codependent. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Rewriting this story has been a slow process with many gap days in between the work days. You can thank my constant sleepiness for that. But fear not, because before 2019 is over, I will have this novel finished and published. The next chapter to be written will be number twelve, where Windham and Tarja deliver the blueprints to Shelly’s castle to their boss, Orpheus Rinehart. Will the boss man be grateful or will he reward his employees with a year-long membership in the Jelly of the Month Club? It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. You get a cookie if you know what movie that’s from.

***PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You will find that if you get with reality, all thoughts of delusions disappear. But you must remember that the secret to all of this is not to be afraid of fear. When you can really allow yourself to be afraid, and you don't resist the experience of fear, you are truly beginning to master fear. But when you refuse to be afraid, you are resisting fear, and that simply sets up a vicious circle of being afraid of fear of being afraid of being afraid of fear. If then you try to obliterate fear, you're working in the wrong way. To attack at fear is to strengthen it. As if you were God, that is to say, you don't trust anybody and you're the dictator and you have to keep everybody in line, you lose the divine then. 'Cause what you're doing is simply defending yourself. So then the principle is the more you give it away, the more it comes back. The meaning of the fact we see that everything is dissolving constantly, we're all falling apart. We're all in a process of constant death. Then you truly understand that you don't have to let go because there's nothing to hold on to.”

-Alan Watts-

Circus Seal

VERSE 1

Whether I’m eating dinner with my family

Or on the brink of schizophrenic insanity

Or taking a shit in a public bathroom stall

Or watching a movie that makes me bawl

You must have my attention here and now

It doesn’t matter when, doesn’t matter how

An autograph or a private performance

Neither, pal, now go fuck off into orbit

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 2

It’s not that I hate my own loyal fan base

It’s just that this is neither the time nor place

I need my moments of peace and quiet

If I turn you away, don’t start a city-wide riot

Don’t post my dirty laundry on the internet

My private and public lives do not intersect

Nothing personal, I just want to unwind

In a place where nobody will ever find

CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

VERSE 3

You buy my products, but you’re not my boss

If you despise me, it’s your own damn loss

You don’t own me like a hand puppet master

Threatening me will only make me walk faster

EXTENDED CHORUS

I’m not your circus seal

You don’t care how I feel

Private time is not yours to steal

I’m not your circus seal

I’m not your favorite bitch

You don’t make me rich

I don’t owe you shit

I’m not your favorite bitch

Why Won't You Love Me?

VERSE 1

An autograph for your necrograph

Yet you turn away and belly laugh

Tell the world I’m damaged goods

I’m a psycho hiding out in the woods

Imagination short circuited by pills

Wasted potential killed off by the ills

Scandalous past kicking my own ass

The quiet one in the back of the class

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire

VERSE 2

Jealousy is a sincere form of flattery

Exclusion is a real form of battery

Failure is the true root of all agony

Suffering is the beginning of tragedy

I see you flying like a golden angel

My wings are bent at a funny angle

I’ll see you on the bottom of the barrel

I’ll find you when I’m lonely and feral

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire

VERSE 3

My passion won’t allow me to let go

My anxiety won’t allow me to know

The answer to this riddle called life

No matter how I hard I fucking try

They tell me to be patient and wait

Until the day I’m at the pearly gates

Work harder than I’ve ever worked

Until I blow a fuse and go berserk

PRE-CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why won’t you care?

Why do the masses

Give me a blank stare?

Why won’t you love me?

Why won’t you join me?

Could my cries for help

Be that fucking annoying?

CHORUS

Why won’t you love me?

Why do you shove me?

Enough room in my heart for an army

Even for the ones who try to harm me

Why won’t you love me?

You’re so high above me

Enough room in my mind for a choir

Love me or leave me, down to the wire

Liars and Thieves

VERSE 1

You spread lies like you spread your legs

Giving it all away free to anyone who begs

Libel is your bible and fraud is your god

Yet you wonder why you’re a lightning rod

Well placed punches never shut you up

You drink in sympathy like a coffee cup

Everyone is eating out of your filthy hands

Lies and rumors are the laws of the land

CHORUS

Liars and thieves! People to believe!

Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!

Gather around the cult of personality!

He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!

VERSE 2

Reputations ruined and lives shattered

Spirits broken and psychologies battered

Brains feel number than a shot of Novocain

Hearts feel crushed underneath the pain

Weaponizing words is an act of war

You’re an iron dictator to the deepest core

Weaponizing fists is an act of revenge

Nobody stops until everyone is dead

CHORUS

Liars and thieves! People to believe!

Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!

Gather around the cult of personality!

He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!

VERSE 3

A cold jail cell is the last circle of hell

The result of the fighting after the bell

The high school became a boxing ring

The final punch has dethroned the king

Justice or revenge? What’s the difference?

One takes longer and the other is instant

The road to hell is paved with bitter blood

There is no exit ramp to lead you to love

EXTENDED CHORUS

Liars and thieves! People to believe!

Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!

Gather around the cult of personality!

He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!

The truth alone never freed anybody!

When no one even bothers to study!

Everybody wants to plant the seeds!

Of ignorance for the liars and thieves!

FINAL LINE

Coming up next on Celebrity Bullshit: this Hollywood stud fucked an entire village of mentally challenged trolls! More news at eleven. Here’s Stacy with the weather.

Chasing You

VERSE 1
Chasing you has tired me out
I end these childish games now
Save my energy for someone who knows me
Loves me for everything I can possibly be
Don’t waste your ballads on little old me
Don’t fight my battles until you bleed
Give me a reason to break my shell
Without dragging me through hell


CHORUS 1
Chasing you has weakened my legs
Chasing you has forced me to beg
Chasing you has left me for dead
No one shall share my heavenly bed


VERSE 2
Status and fame were all to blame
You made me believe you weren’t the same
I put you on high and you passed me by
Without even telling me how or why
Fairy tales are for pre-school kids
Romance is only for the highest bid
You keep the mace in your favorite place
In case you want to torture my pudgy face


CHORUS 2
Chasing you isn’t worth the pain
Chasing you has driven me insane
Chasing you for hollow lust
Replaced by tabloid headline disgust


VERSE 3
I’m not a paparazzo with small F-stop
I don’t like to dance, I don’t listen to pop
All I have is a wild imagination
And venomous words for a demonstration
I won’t change who I am for any diva
Badass singer or chick named Ziva
College chick with the shortest of shorts
Cheerleader chick who bends and contorts


CHORUS 3
Chasing you has left me weak
Chasing you leaves my future bleak
Chasing you was all for nothing
You don’t believe in the power of loving
You believe in stacks of dollar bills
Doing cocaine in Beverly Hills
Tantric sex and other such thrills
If I can’t have you, then damn it, who will?


STOLEN LINE
Maybe I should let her go
But only when she loves me
She loves me
How can I just let her go?
Not until she loves me
She loves me

(Stolen line is a lyric from "Killpop" by Slipknot.)

"Star Island" by Carl Hiaasen

BOOK TITLE: Star Island
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 2010
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass


In this deconstruction of celebrity culture, untalented pop singer Cherry Pye is on the brink of becoming a mega-star with the concert tour of her latest album Skantily Klad. She’s also a drug and alcohol nightmare for her parents, handlers, and paparazzi. Whenever she’s too toasted to go out in public to ruin her career, Ann DeLuisa, her identical imposter, goes out for her and behaves normally. A perverted paparazzo named Bang Abbott desperately wants a photo of Cherry Pye at her worst so that he can sell it for hundreds of thousands of dollars. But when he kidnaps the stunt double, the plot to keep Ann’s name out of the press becomes a chaotic clusterfuck for Cherry’s parents.

I’ve been a fan of Carl Hiaasen’s for almost half a decade now, which I realize is a short period of time considering his lengthy and productive career, but “Star Island” is another reminder of why he’s one of the best in the business when it comes to fast-paced and comedic thrillers. The dialogue is witty, the action never slows down for a minute, and the whirlwind of chaos that ensues in this book is perfectly planned out from beginning to end.

It should also be known that two of Hiaasen’s most famous characters are reintroduced in this book: Skink (deranged ex-governor of Florida turned eco-warrior) and Chemo (flaky-skinned criminal with a weed whacker where his hand was supposed to be). Though they are on opposite alignments at first, the further you read into this book, the more you realize they have a lot in common. They have a disdain for spoiled brats, they don’t take shit from anybody, they’re both on the wrong side of the law, and they can be cunning when they need to be. Chemo prefers to be a hard-ass who trims his victims with his weed eater and Skink prefers more creative methods, such as, attaching a sea urchin to a scumbag banker’s testicles. Sooner or later these two longtime Hiaasen characters are going to meet. And when they do, you’d better batten down the hatches.

Pretty much every character in this book has something kooky going on with them. Aside from Skink’s craziness and Chemo’s intimidation, you also have the main character of the book, Cheryl Bunterman, aka Cherry Pye. This woman deserves no sympathy whatsoever. She’s an airhead, she lip-synchs her way to popularity, she’s spoiled, she’s shallow, and she’ll do any drug she can get her hands on. Chemo is already a loose cannon, so when he’s hired to protect Cherry and keep her out of trouble, even he’s driven to insanity.

Any other kooky characters who mesh well with a chaotic plot? How about the pedophilic CEO of Jailbait Records Maury Lykes? How about the deceptive banker and environmental hazard Jackie Sebago? Bang Abbott is no angel himself: he’s 300 plus pounds of sexual perversion and bottom feeding behavior, which is perfect for his paparazzo occupation. Ann DeLuisa might be one of the few people in the book with a sane head on her shoulders. How she keeps from going insane in the captivity of Bang Abbott is a mystery in itself. All of the characters mesh perfectly with each other whether they’re allies or driving each other nuts. There is not one hint of bad chemistry among these comedic forces.

In addition to playing to his usual strengths of chaotic comedy and environmental hammering, Carl Hiaasen is also a master at dissecting celebrity culture. There’s always this fascination with a celebrity couple doing something as simple as walking the streets together. There’s an even bigger fascination with pop stars who crash and burn under their own stupidity and weakness. We as civilians like to talk about celebrities like we know all about them. We put them on pedestals one minute, but when they fuck up just once, the media shit storm becomes too much to handle. Some celebrities deserve their privacy, while those in the same vein as Cherry Pye deserve to crash and burn and wind up in the shit house. The things people will do for fame and fortune, for better or worse, are all documented in Hiaasen’s novel. If you’ve ever wanted to put celebrities under a microscope instead of on a pedestal, by all means, pick up a copy of “Star Island”.

There’s a reason why Carl Hiaasen is one of Florida’s most widely recognized authors: it’s because he never disappoints when he releases a new novel. Sometimes I grab a Hiaasen novel whenever I’ve read something from another author that was awful. It’s the perfect cure for the one-star blues. A passing grade for a brilliant author and his book.

Chris Hammer

NAME: Chris Hammer
AGE: 43
OCCUPATION: Fitness Guru
CANON: Jumping Jackholes


If you’re ever feeling bad about how much you weigh or what your body looks like, the world’s biggest jerk-ass known as Chris Hammer will make you feel even worse as part of his motivational gimmick. He’s got muscles the size of pumpkins, veins the size of pipelines, blood flowing through his steroid stream, and more anger in his heart than the entire Westboro Baptist Church. Speaking of the latter, Chris Hammer hates fat people so much that he has become a venomous bigot. He might as well hold up a rainbow colored sign that says “God Hates Fats”.

The worst part about this nimrod? He has his own TV show. That’s right, folks. People desperate to lose weight actually turn on their tubes and listen to a full hour of Chris Hammer screaming anti-fat slurs at them while doing exercises that are ridiculously hard even for the physically fit. Because he’s so disgustingly strong, he can do things like move boulders, do jumping jacks while carrying cannonballs, do pushups with fat customers on his back, and run a mile in less than ten seconds. His only response: “What’s your excuse?” And if you don’t have an excuse, relax, because he’ll put it all into perspective for you. In a thunderous voice, he’ll threaten to give your food away to hungry children in Africa because you’re fat enough to have a heart attack any minute now.

The best way to deal with this prick would be to punch him in the mouth, right? Well, part of being muscular is having a high tolerance for pain. Plus, Chris Hammer just happens to have a chiseled jaw, so you would probably break your fist before you broke his face. What about firepower? Are you so desperate to see this guy killed that you need to arm yourself with pistols and shotguns? Maybe even rocket launchers? Once again, the rocket shell would turn to shrapnel before Chris Hammer turned to fire and ashes. Due to this guy’s indestructibility, he has a complex that makes him feel entitled to belittle others because he has everything going for him.

Know any celebrities like that? I can name a few off the top of my head right now. Donald Trump comes to mind. He has so much money that he can manipulate the odds when he’s suing other people for even more money. Mel Gibson is next on deck. He has so much celebrity status that he believes he’s entitled to scream at his wife or girlfriend, maybe even beat her. Phil Robertson is yet another example. Because he has his own TV show and immerses himself in Christian culture every damn second of his life, he believes he is entitled to use homophobic slurs without facing backlash. Donald Trump, Mel Gibson, and Phil Robertson are nothing more than prototypes for Chris Hammer, yet another guy who uses his power to oppress others.

The last time I wrote something as bold as Jumping Jackholes, it was 2012 and I was desperate for novella ideas. And because 2012 was an uneducated year for me, I firmly believed back then that hyperbolic descriptions and unbelievable endings were acceptable. Now we come to today’s world where Jumping Jackholes has been deleted from my archives and this asshole Complete Monster Chris Hammer is left without employment. Normally, using Complete Monsters is a bad thing because it disenfranchises the reader. But just like Mary-Sues, Gary-Stus, and any other character who’s labeled with a literary slur, Complete Monsters come in all shapes and colors. If Chris Hammer gets used again, I will definitely take my fitness frustrations out on him.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“What’s wrong with you, Jamie Noble? Are you upset with me because people actually know who I am? Or is it because unlike you, I can get on all the rides at Disneyland? Don’t worry, Jamie, my six-year-old daughter feels the same way.”

-Randy Orton-

Charging For Autographs

If you’re lucky enough to have met a celebrity, you’ve probably had this conversation before:

“Hey there, Mr. Fancy Pants Celebrity! Can I have an autograph?”

“Sure thing, little buddy! Fifty dollars!”

“What?!”

Can you believe that? Fifty dollars for a little bit of ink. With authors, it sounds ironic at first. The average book costs anywhere from 10 to 20 dollars on Amazon (if it’s brand spanking new). These books can be anywhere from 100 to 400 pages long, which means god knows how many words. For 40 to 50 dollars more, you could have a pen signature on a piece of paper that you could read in one second flat with a grade schooler’s effort. Something doesn’t seem right here. Why pay a high price just for a little blot of ink? How exactly does a celebrity’s hand turn that little splotch of ink into gold or silver? There are easier ways to get a celebrity’s signature onto a piece of paper. You could just Google the person’s name and then print a copy of said autograph. So that probably means you would be rich by virtue of having all of these autographs that are “authentic”. But what if these signatures are forged? Then get a real one from the celebrity when he signs a restraining order against you. You can thank the Big Bang Theory for that last tip. Is all of this rambling going to lead somewhere, you ask? I know it normally doesn’t whenever somebody rambles, but trust me, I have a point to make. If it’s a celebrity who’s already making tons of money with movies, book deals, TV appearances, and whatnot, then why exactly does he need to charge $50 for a splotch of ink? If the proceeds were going to charity, then I could understand. But even so, I refuse to pay that much money for a little pen splatter despite the fact that the money might be used to help a cause I care about such as the ASPCA or schizophrenic research. If I’m going to pay $50, I want to get something in return such as cookies or T-shirts that are actually my size, which I probably won’t find if I buy too many cookies. I’m happy with donating a small amount of money, but not to a celebrity’s personal bank account (even if I idolize the celebrity like a tribal god). Maybe if the celebrity was down on his luck, I might be more sympathetic. But until then, I see no reason for the rich to continue getting richer while poor people like me continue to get poorer. Sue me. Actually, don’t do that, because the rich actually will get richer while the poor actually get poorer.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Life is like a penis, most people don’t know it: most people suck, so they usually blow it.”

-The Bloodhound Gang singing “Take the Long Way Home”-

Nasal Science

Despite the title of this blog entry, it’s not about boogers and snot, so you can put the Kleenex away. It’s also not about masturbation, so that’s even more reason for you to stow away the tissues. It’s about people who have become so nosy toward authors and other celebrities that they’ve got it down to a science, hence the title Nasal Science. They ask the most ridiculous questions and put the “valuable information” on Wikipedia pages. For instance, someone actually got MMA champion Ronda Rousey to say that having sex before a fight is good for a female competitor since it increases their testosterone levels. I swear to god, that’s what’s on her Wikipedia biography right now. You know who else has a ridiculous Wikipedia entry? Former WWE diva Eve Torres. Somewhere in the personal information, it says that she’s afraid of clowns. Who gives a flying fuck?! And WWE superstar Daniel Bryan? Somewhere in his personal life section it says that he’s no longer a vegan because he developed an allergy to soy products. Oh, that’s so fascinating! I really needed to know about his allergies! That’s so fun! Look, I’m not saying that asking questions of celebrities is a bad thing. I’m just saying there’s such a thing as taking it to the extreme. Brock Lesnar and Jack White both have the right idea: if it’s not important, you don’t need to know about it. You don’t need to know The Great Khali’s penis size, you don’t need to know that Jacob Volkmann is a part-time back-snapper, and you REALLY don’t need to know how bad of a childhood Ivan Moody had. The latter of the three is what really disturbs me. People hear the songs “Remember Everything” and “The Devil’s Own” by Five Finger Death Punch, the band that Mr. Moody comes from, and they all of the sudden want to know all about his childhood. Are the lyrics not enough of an indication? “Slap on the wrist, smack in the face, the family tree gave me a name and nothing more!” What else do you want? Triggering a celebrity’s trauma is not fan service. Going back to Ronda Rousey for a moment, if you really want to know about her dead father, Google it. Don’t try to get her to open up to you. The last time that happened, she was in tears. We don’t like it when Ronda Rousey is in tears, except for when she just won a match. If you want to satisfy a minor curiosity, do it without making a science out of it. You don’t need a lab coat and scrubs. You’re just a geeky kid sitting in a computer chair. You want to know how you can pay fan service? Leave them the fuck alone!

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If there is a God, he’s got a shit-load of explaining to do.”

-Tommy Gavin from “Rescue Me”-

Celebrity Memoirs

I hate to break it to you, Tea-Baggers, but Sarah Palin didn’t actually write “Going Rogue”. She can barely write talking points on her hand. She did what every other celebrity has done when they wanted to put out a book: she hired a ghostwriter. As much as I hate to admit it, there are pro-wrestlers out there as well who’ve used ghostwriters as well from Lesnar to Jericho. Unless the celebrity is already an established author like Tobias Wolff or Sarah Vowell, you can be pretty sure some ghostwriter out there wrote the damn book without being touted or paid very well. It’s the curse of being a ghostwriter, but it’s like my sister-in-law Susan says: “You have to start somewhere.” But if all of this celebrity-endorsed work is really a product of qualified writers, then why do bookworms toss them aside like they’re beneath the works of Stephen King and Suzanne Collins? I’ll tell you why: because the ghostwriters dictate a style in which their boss speaks. If you read a celebrity memoir and it suddenly sounded like a Pulitzer magnet, there’s something seriously wrong here. Do you honestly believe that Snooki is capable of talking like a literature student? I hope to God you don’t. Truth is, we don’t buy celebrity memoirs because they’re intelligently written. We buy them because we want to get intimate with the private lives of the person we’re reading about. I will say this: celebrity books dictate a very quick pace because they don’t overdo heavy descriptive language. The descriptions found in these books will most likely be a pop culture reference of some kind. Take for instance “Undisputed” by Chris Jericho. There’s a scene where he’s playing a Fozzy gig and he slides off the stage in what appears to be a goofy accident. You want to know what he compared it to? The toboggan scene from Christmas Vacation. Remember that scene? I do, but that doesn’t mean everybody else does. Not everybody has seen that movie before. But that’s okay, because celebrities can get away with pop culture references. Why is that? Because they’re famous and people will buy their books whether the writing is good or not. If you have no fame, don’t even try for a pop culture reference. It won’t work. People who don’t listen to Nightwish won’t know what you’re talking about if you all of the sudden compare the beauty of your girlfriend to that of Tarja Turunen. Celebrities can get away with pretty much anything they want. They’re famous, they’re rich, and people will love them no matter what. That’s not to say that celebrity memoirs can’t be entertaining. On the contrary, “Undisputed” was VERY entertaining. Just don’t expect to see these books in a college classroom. Ever.

　

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANIEL BRYAN: I feel naked without the tag team titles!
KANE: That’s because you’re not wearing a shirt. Or pants.

"Just a Guy" by BIll Engvall

You all know Bill Engvall as a giggly blue-collar comedian who will forever be known as the guy who hands out signs to morons that read “I’m Stupid”. In his 2007 memoir entitled “Just a Guy”, he’s still a giggly blue-collar comedian known for saying “Here’s Your Sign”, but his material is a little more personal this time. Bill was always known for having a great sense of humor, so his future in comedy just came naturally. A classic example of this is when he was jumping around with his sisters on the bed and he fell off and sliced himself open. Instead of being gross and perverted like a lot of horror authors, he took the hyperbolic route and in the book described the blood flow as being worse than the entire Saw series. You don’t actually have to watch the Saw movies to know what he’s talking about. Just the fact that the movies have that name is enough to let the reader know that someone’s getting slashed up worse than Bill plopping on a sharp wooden floor. But for all you writers out there, keep in mind that the only reason Bill Engvall can get away with hyperbolic descriptions and you can’t is because A: he’s a celebrity, and B: he’s a comedian. That’s why when he described a tall-haired woman on an airplane as looking like Marge Simpson, he gets more laughs out of that one sentence than most writers get out of an entire novel. Or how about the time when he described himself as being so sore after a baseball game that he walked like he crapped his pants. Huh? There’s an image you’ll never get out of your head! Having said all of these things about Bill Engvall’s comedic prowess, “Just a Guy” isn’t without its somber moments. They’re few and far in between, but they’re still there and they’ll still haunt you. The one that sticks out for me is when Bill’s mother divorced his father and he was left with a huge hole in his heart that couldn’t be patched up with levy cement. It pained me to read that a funny guy like him was actually crying his eyes out whenever the thought of his mother leaving him came about. Yet another one that sticks out in my mind is near the end of the book where Bill talks about becoming more and more invisible as he gets older. He’s away on the road for so long that the only function he has anymore is buying pizza or taking the kids for a ride to the mall. As someone who’s been a ghost before, this is troubling to me. But don’t let these two tearjerker moments draw you away from this book. It’s a giggly read from beginning to end and it’ll go by so fast that you won’t have time to have dewy eyes. Definitely worth whatever you pay for it!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“My son plays the piano and one day he said he wanted to play something for me. He says, ‘I’m going to play you something from Harry Potter.’ And I say, ‘The movie?’ And he says, ‘No, the book. Here’s your sign, Dad!’”

-Bill Engvall-