Randal Graves from Clerks vs. Lindsey Graham, Whose Last Name Should Also Be Graves, Hint, Hint, Wink, Wink (Rest in Piss, Loser)

 

Food-Mindedness and Body Horror

In case it wasn’t already abundantly clear from my 300 lb. belly, I’m very food-minded. Almost everything in my life reminds me of food in some way. Hell, the word Life will conjure images of the oat square cereal swirling around in milk. The word swirling will remind me of frosted cinnamon buns, keyword being frosted, as in enough frosting to cover the whole fucking thing. At least those words make a modicum of sense, but then there are names of people that remind me of food for no reason at all. Marcus reminds me of hotdogs and mustard. Brad reminds me of French bread. Rachel reminds me of apple juice. Erick reminds me of birthday cake-flavored milkshakes. How did this happen? Was it the constant advertising? Was there some trick of the brain during childhood I wasn’t aware of?

Already, my relationship with food is off to a rocky start. But then there are the things I find disgusting in life and how they find their way into my food. Not literally, but I imagine that they do and my imagination is powerful enough to make me vomit in some cases. For example, if you’ve ever seen the movie Clerks, the View Askew Productions logo at the beginning will serve as nightmare fuel to haunt you at every stage of life. There’s nothing wrong with men dressing in fishnet pantyhose, high heels, and leather thongs…even if they do have grotesque body hair. But it’s the unwanted sexual attention and creepiness of his flirtation that makes it such a traumatic logo. After seeing that logo for the first time, I kept involuntarily picturing his hairy disgusting body in pieces of my lunch meat. Every time I take a bite of ham or turkey, I imagine I’m taking a bite out of that man’s body. My stomach is aching and my fingers are convulsing just thinking about this.

But that’s just one example. If that was the only one, then I wouldn’t have been inspired to write an entire essay on it. What about the Calcobrena Puppets from Final Fantasy IV? You know, those creepy leotard-wearing dolls with buzzed heads, bloodshot eyes, zombie movements, and murderous intentions. They look like they could be Pee-Wee Herman’s children based on their buzz-cuts alone. Pee-Wee Herman once taught his audience how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on his show. Therefore…all of my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will taste like the bodies of the Calcobrena Puppets. It’ll be like eating right off of their skulls, head lice, fleas, and maggots be damned. It’ll be like giving French kisses to each and every one of those dolls…while passing pre-chewed sandwiches back and forth! Again, my stomach is boiling and rotting while I’m typing this.

And what about the Simpsons from their Treehouse of Horror Episodes, particularly the ones where they turn into pale zombies. They chew flesh, they lose limbs, they groan like exhausted monsters, and did I mention that they have pale skin? You know what else is pale in color? Pasta covered in white sauce, whether it’s American cheese or Alfredo sauce. Every bite that I took of those macaroni shells made me believe I was eating pieces of the zombie Simpsons. I took a long time to swallow knowing that zombie flesh was going down my throat and was going to poison me to death. The macaroni turned to mush in my mouth, so when I finally swallowed, I gagged and brought up a little bit of bile with it.

If I rattled off every example of food-related body horror, then we’d be here forever and a day. I could talk about the faceless masks from Pink Floyd the Wall reminding me of melted cheese. I could talk about the diarrhea blasts in The Human Centipede reminding me of chocolate ice cream (that one’s too obvious, though). I could talk about dead flies reminding me of Butterfinger ice cream. How did this all happen? Why are these disgusting things finding their way into my every meal? Am I so linked up with food that every trauma will remind me of such? Suppose I was more inclined towards Legos instead of food. If I touched a Lego piece that had three holes in it, would it remind me of the Pink Floyd masks? What if I was geared towards clothing? Would the View Askew drag queen’s body hair remind me of a wool sweater that’s literally hugging my chest?

I can already hear fatphobic assholes using my food horror as motivation for me to lose weight…or is that just my schizophrenic voices? Nah, I’m pretty sure someone has thought of exploiting me at one point or another. To those fat-shamers, I say watch the Human Centipede and eat a bag of shit and then watch Pink Floyd the Wall and eat an entire McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese (there has to be cheese in it, no exceptions). Unlike drugs and alcohol, food is actually necessary to survive. A cheeseburger will carry you over into the next day. A pack of cigarettes will not. A pepperoni pizza will give you the nutrition you need, even if it’s bad. Alcohol will not. If I gave up all of my favorite foods due to the body horror I’ve witnessed over the years, I would die of anorexia. Imagine that: fat-shaming actually hurts people instead of helping them find motivation. It’s almost as if people are only fat-shaming to satisfy their sadistic urges and are just using motivation as a cover-up for their shitty behavior. Bullying never went away; it just adapted to the new world.

I could tell you all that I’ve found the perfect counter for body horror-induced trauma, but I haven’t. Yes, I’m still alive and eating like a pig, but that’s only because the trauma went away on its own. I eat ham sandwiches whenever I damn well please even though the View Askew drag queen lusted on me through the TV screen as a kid. I eat stuffed mushrooms despite the fact that it feels too much like I’m eating Phanto from Mario Brothers 2, the evilly-smiling little bastard. Trauma going away on its own is not a typical outcome for most people, especially if schizophrenia is a factor like it is for me. Sure, you can take away the stimulus and hope for the Law of Diminishing Returns to kick in, but it doesn’t always do that. I have no solutions for your body horror trauma. As a matter of fact, I may have given you some of that as I described examples of how they make their way into my food.

Sometimes I think I’m the only one who experiences things like this until I Google it and find entire communities full of people who share my problems. But that’s assuming I’m not too lazy on any given day to use Google. It’s such an easy thing, yet I find myself too lazy sometimes to type words into a search engine. If you’re out there and you’re as food-minded as me, I’m sorry I can’t provide solutions for you other than the occasional animal picture and some digital hugs. You know who can provide more than that? Your therapist. They can talk you through your trauma. They can encourage you to face your food-themed fears. They can be there for you when you feel like others would laugh at your plight. Yes, therapy can be expensive at times, but it’s worth every penny if it means you’ll be okay in the end. If you’re not okay, it’s not the end. Life is better alive. It’s a dumb thing to say, but the truth won’t wane away. Okay, now I’m just ripping off quotes and lyrics. I should stop doing that before I get sent to prison for copyright infringement and have my vanilla pudding remind me of my cell mate’s semen. Uh-oh! More body horror!

Characters Without Aspirations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Concerts in February and March

***CONCERTS IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH***

Do you ever feel like you have stage fright even though you’re part of the audience and not the actual performer? The closer I get to the day of a concert, the more I feel this way myself. Don’t get me wrong, concerts are fun to go to and I’ll always jump at the opportunity to see my favorites. It could be my introverted nature, but when I enter a room full of that many people, I just feel like hiding in a corner. I can quickly calm down once I get settled in, but introverts don’t really like big gatherings, especially party-like atmospheres. Maybe it’s the aggression of my fellow concertgoers. Maybe it’s the drugs and booze they consume. Maybe it’s the crowd noise. Regardless of what it could be, I always try to find the loneliest space in the audience so that my batteries don’t drain too quickly. I don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to me. It was like that in school and it’s like that at a performance.

Despite the social malaise, I keep going back for more shows because I want to cherish these experiences forever. I call them one-day vacations because concerts are just as special to me as traveling to another country for a week or so. I purposefully post concerts I’ve been to as Life Events on Face Book. It seems like an arrogant thing to do, but I don’t care if nobody else does it. You know what else I like to do? Keep a personal ledger of concerts I’ve attended on my computer so that I can remind myself of the magic I experienced. Even the concerts where I’ve had negative experiences with members of the crowd, fuck it, I record those anyways. Drunken asshole at Pain in the Grass 2016? Fuck it, I record it. Femme fatale at a Pop Evil concert? I’ll record that experience too. Concerts and foreign vacations alike are badges of honor for the one who needs experience the most.

That’s why I’m happy to announce that in February and March of this year, I’ll be seeing three different shows, maybe more if they pop up on my radar. In the beginning of February, I’m going to Tacoma with my brother James to see Jason Mewes perform standup comedy. We both have seen him before in late 2017 and it’s actually one of my favorite experiences of all time. He made me laugh so hard that I sounded like a James Bond villain and made everyone else vicariously giggly. Jason Mewes actually stopped his set after I laughed and said, “I fucking love this guy!” We got to meet him after the show and he was a cool dude, every bit as goofy and funny as he is in Kevin Smith’s View Askew movies. Round two? Here we go!

Later in February, I’m going alone to see Soulfly in Seattle. This will be my third time seeing that band in concert, but my fourth time seeing a Max Cavalera-fronted band. I previously saw Soulfly in 2009 and 2018 and I saw Cavalera Conspiracy in 2015. All three times, Max was a heavy metal berserker onstage. He’s got the barbarian look with his bulky body, long dreadlocks, and fuzzy beard. He’s got the barbarian attitude with the way he makes everyone in the building jump the fuck up and mosh like animals. When I saw Soulfly in 2018, I blew my voice out because I was screaming along with their songs all night long. It’d be an honor to abuse my vocal cords again in 2019.

And then there’s the middle of March, where for the first time in my life, I’m going to see Within Temptation perform. The first song I ever heard by them was “Angels” and it was superimposed in a You Tube video celebrating the romance between former Nightwish vocalist Tarja Turunen and her husband Marcelo Cabuli. I didn’t buy my first Within Temptation record until 2014 or 2015 and that was the Hydra album. One kick-ass song begot another and it wasn’t long until I completed my collection of their CD’s. I was even able to convince my late Uncle Brian to become a Within Temptation fan. In his words, “Sharon Den Adel is soooooooo gorgeous!” Unfortunately, Brian died in a car accident after falling asleep at the wheel back in November. He never got to see Within Temptation perform before he passed. I’ll be moshing in his honor.

I know every time I do a blog entry about concerts I’m attending, I always say that they’ll affect my creative schedule in some way, but they never do. At least with a foreign country vacation, I’m away from the computer for a week at a time. Concerts? They’re only one day long. I’m back on the computer when I get home anyways so that I can record the concert as a Life Event on Face Book. I don’t have the Life Event feature on any other social media platform I use, so these blogs will have to do. Wish me luck on overcoming my social shyness! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Wait a minute, I’m not seeing Three Days Grace! What the hell?!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

After days of psychological torpor, I finally got around to writing chapter nine of Beautiful Monster. I got all of Windham and Tarja’s talking points out of the way before the two of them were thrust into a battle with Shelly Atwood’s goon squad. Chapter ten will be the actual unfolding of that battle. If you remember in the first draft, the battle ended when Windham whipped the shit out of a bandit for making rape jokes about him. In this new version, the battle will end a little more realistically, but the intense drama of it all will remain the same. How will it end? No spoilers for you! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Vanishing point of the blacktop. Shithole venue smells like rot. A thousand nights I left behind. Another tribe, another time. A brotherhood at stage right. A circle pit night after night. A congregation packed full of sinners. Another road, another winter. Broken bottles thrown in a fight. Cannot move, sold out tonight. Stage dive, no fucking glamour. Tonight’s show, it’s all that matters. Many were cursed and many alive. Carry a torch for those who have died. Carve your skin, a mosaic forever. Never say die, never say never. Feedback, feedback, not a fucking regret.”

-Soulfly singing “Feedback!”-

Pop Evil and Starset

***POP EVIL AND STARSET***

Tomorrow night I’m headed over to Seattle to see a Pop Evil concert at El Corazon and the following Wednesday I’m going back to that same venue to see Starset. With only two days of recuperation in between the two shows, I’m glad I got all of my creative work done today and the night before. Chapter fourteen of Silent Warrior is live and in color while my reading commitments are all caught up. I’m definitely ready to rock out in Seattle with two of my favorite rock bands.

The first time I heard Pop Evil’s music was when they opened for Papa Roach in 2013. The second time I saw them was at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016. If you like explosive hard rock that can occasionally dip into sensitive territory, you’ll like Pop Evil. They have five albums to their name and their most recent self-titled project came out just a week ago. I bought “War of Angels” and “Lipstick On the Mirror” for my niece Reina on her fourteenth birthday back in January and she was grateful to say the least. I’m anticipating an awesome fucking show tomorrow night!

The first time I heard Starset was in 2014 on one of the Music Choice radio stations and it was their single “My Demons”. By the time they unleashed their next single “Carnivore”, I knew I had to have their Transmissions album, which is their first CD as a band. A year ago they came out with their sophomore effort Vessels and they’ve been going strong ever since. Starset has the gimmick of being space explorers warning humanity about the demise of mankind. It’s not meant to be cute or funny; the music and gimmick are actually quite emotional and can draw in a huge crowd on any given night.

I like to jokingly refer to rock concerts as one-day vacations, which is why I list them as life events on my Face Book page. It seems like I’m stroking myself when I do that, but I really do consider these concerts to be that important to me since the bands rarely visit my home state. I don’t do this with movies or books, because I can get that kind of experience at home without making any kind of pilgrimage to a stadium. Concerts? You have to get your ass out in public for those.

But just like with any pilgrimage to the city of rock, I will return safe, sound, and in perfect condition to continue my creative endeavors. I’m not fond of memes that say writers never take vacations. While it is true that not writing for a while makes us feel homesick, getting out and experiencing life is paramount to our creativity. You can’t have one without the other. That’s what makes Silent Warrior so special to me: because some of it (not all of it) is based on true experiences I’ve had as a teenager in high school. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***SILENT WARRIOR, CHAPTER 15***

I know one audience member in particular has been waiting patiently for a chapter told from the point of view of Mr. Simpson. Ask and you shall receive. In this chapter, the aloof history teacher barges into his daughter’s bedroom and confronts her about having sex with Scott. During this heated exchange, Adrienne (the daughter in question) exposes a secret to the reader that will give some insight into why Mr. Simpson is as insufferable as he is. What’s that secret? You’ll figure it out when the rest of the world does! No spoilers for you!

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are a lot of fine-looking women all over the world today. They don’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”

-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-

Sex Scenes In Silent Warrior

***SEX SCENES IN SILENT WARRIOR***

I don’t like to give spoilers for my stories or anybody else’s, but in this case, an exception has to be made for my current work in progress, Silent Warrior. Two future chapters of this novel will include sex scenes between Scott George and Adrienne Simpson. The first of these two chapters features Scott masturbating in his bedroom to Adrienne’s bare feet. The second of the two chapters will feature a full-blown sex scene between the two high school sweethearts. Because of various social media sites’ prohibition of sexual content, these two sex-based chapters will not be posted online and will instead be kept on my computer in a private folder.

This next statement is not a knock on any online groups I’m a part of, but is instead an indictment of society in general. You can show people getting their heads blown off with shotguns. You can show people getting their hearts ripped out of their chests. You can set people on fire. You can beat the shit out of attack dogs. But whatever you do, don’t show two high school students having consensual sex. In that respect, it would be less offensive if Scott George hacked off Tom Simpson’s limbs with a machete, or if Alan Young ripped Scott’s brain out of his skull through his eye sockets. John Lennon famously pointed out the hypocrisy of violence being less offensive than sex, but he was assassinated in 1980, so we’re pretty much deprived of his wisdom in this day and age.

And in case you couldn’t tell already from the chapters I’ve posted, yes, Scott George has a foot fetish. It’s a common fetish to have, particularly for men. There’s nothing weird or repulsive about it (unless you want to ruin it by pointing out foot odor and toe jam). If you wear flip-flops around a foot fetishist in public, don’t panic, because he’s not going to hump your feet at a million miles per hour right there and then. That’s what molesters do. Being a foot fetishist is nowhere close to being the same as being a molester. In the same way gay people don’t hump every guy they see at random, foot fetishists have perfect self-control in public, because most of them are, surprise, surprise, decent people. I know this, because I too have a foot fetish, which is my own little self-insert for Scott George’s character.

Of course, another part of this controversy is the age difference between Scott and Adrienne. Scott is an eighteen-year-old senior and Adrienne is a fifteen-year-old freshman. While I won’t divulge how their age difference will factor into later parts of the story, I will say that it’s a central part of my novel, especially towards the end. Some of my readers will think nothing of a three year age difference while others will say that Adrienne is too far below the age of consent, which is sixteen. It could be a matter of simple math or it could be anal retentiveness towards the rules and regulations, depending on your personal opinion.

In conclusion, if you’re searching the internet for two lost chapters of Silent Warrior, you now know why you’ll never find them. I’d love to be able to share them with you all, but it’s just not in the cards. I’ve been in trouble plenty of times in my internet surfing days for posting offensive content. It’s the reason why I’m banned from Play By Web forever and why I no longer have a website called Macaroni & Ownage Productions. I’m enjoying my internet freedom as of today, so I’m going to err on the side of safety and refrain from posting those two sexual chapters of my story. Thanks for understanding and have a great day.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: So what you’re trying to tell me is that I’m no more responsible for my own actions than, say, a death squad soldier in Bosnia?

DANTE: Oh, now that’s stretching it. You’re not being asked to slay children or anything like that.

RANDAL: Not yet.

-Clerks-

Public Speaking

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

Even though I did standup comedy and stage acting as a teenager, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I can’t stand public speaking. Being nervous and forgetting my lines in front of that many people? Forget it, buddy. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could read from a script the entire time, but then I’m sacrificing that all-important eye contact with my audience. Also without a prepared script, I’m left having to fill time with other topics that I haven’t rehearsed. But as much as I can’t stand public speaking, it’s clear to me after watching one of Jenna Moreci’s You Tube videos that I’ll have to do it if I want to be a successful indie author.

Giving interviews, giving lectures, and recording my own online videos are all part of an author’s platform growth. Not only do I have to swallow my pride and do these things, but I have to sound confident too. In the words of Vince Lombardi, confidence is contagious, so is lack of confidence. If I stutter and stammer over my words, it’s going to stick out like a nun at a porn convention. This is especially noticeable at every job interview I’ve ever conducted. I’d speak in a quiet voice and take time to think about my answers. Not good!

So in order to get myself together long enough for an introvert’s worst nightmare, I’ve come up with my own gimmick for these events. Because I have a prescription for Xanax and they’re taken on an as-needed basis, I’m going to bring two pills and a bottle of water with me to every speech and swallow said pills in front of the audience. This is my own special way of telling them, “You did this to me!” without actually going berserk. Once the chill pills wash over me, I’ll probably sound like I just woke up from a nap, but that’s probably better than sounding like I’m terrified.

If the Xanax gimmick sounds a little suspicious to you, it shouldn’t. If something calms you down and makes you perform better in front of a crowd, why question it? I would never drink alcohol myself because of the way it turns otherwise normal people into rowdy assholes. But then you have people who drink before a performance and seem perfectly rational onstage. I don’t know what it is about booze that makes people courageous, but if it works for you and you don’t sound like a total douche, bottoms up. I wouldn’t recommend the hard drugs like cocaine and heroin. I’d be okay with marijuana, but that’s not really considered “hardcore”.

Shit, there are a lot of things people do in order to relax in front of an audience. When Kevin Smith was filming Clerks, the guy who played Randal, Jeff Anderson, would chew gum throughout the movie because it evens him out. Studies have shown that chewing gum is calming because it triggers the same part of the brain as eating. If you need further proof that eating is a calming and joyful experience, look at the size of my belly. If chewing gum helps Jeff Anderson get through his job, more power to him. I’ll even give him a giant wad of Bubbleicious Mondo (if they still sell that).

The easy solution to sounding confident in front of an audience would be to rehearse your lines over and over again. But rehearsing your lines and actually producing them to a crowd are two completely different animals. You could sound like a million bucks in front of a mirror, but with tens of thousands of people judging you with their eyes? Jesus fuck! It’s part of the reason why I wouldn’t want to be a rock star even though I fantasize about singing onstage almost every day. Rock stars tend to be extroverts while authors such as myself are hardcore introverts.

So now that I’ve revealed to the world that I’m calming myself down with Xanax before a big speech, all that’s left is to book some appearances where I’d have to engage the public. Unfortunately, I’m not famous enough to warrant an in-person interview, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make You Tube videos. I have a digital camera, so it’s not like I’m starving for the right technology. What I am starving for is the right topic to discuss. Sure, I could just talk about writing like I am now, but what specifically? These topics have to be carefully chosen and preferably ones where I’m an expert. What am I an expert in? Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually, just not right now.

Leaving the comfort zone is hard for a lot of people (myself included), but it’s a necessary step in becoming successful in the writing industry (or any other industry for that matter). The comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. I’ve been resisting this truth for far too long. I’ve always figured that sacrificing comfort wasn’t worth it in the end because whatever I did would be a bad decision anyways. Even though I now have a degree and an education, I consider going to WWU a bad decision because of the loneliness and scrutiny I experienced. I left the comfort zone and paid the price. If one of my readers would like to try and convince me to leave my comfort zone and make some You Tube videos, I’d be willing to listen. If not, that’s cool too. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Yesterday was one hell of a productive day for me. Not only did I write “Escape From Kentucky” and entered it into the WSS contest for that week, but I did a bunch of other things as well whether it was drawing Walt Magnus, reading my Kelly Carlin book, or even doing the laundry. Let’s keep the momentum going for a story called “Food Stomp”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Rollin O’Neil, Mentally Disabled Food Stamp User

2.      Mike Wolf, Robber

3.      Rachelle Daley, Robber

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Mike and Rachelle wait until a Fudd Meyers grocery store closes and break in to rob it. The dark morning ensures they have no human obstacles, or at least they think so. Rollin keeps appearing out of nowhere like a ghost in an attempt to talk Mike and Rachelle out of robbing Fudd Meyers and making the store’s prices go up.

OOC: It’s easy to tell that this synopsis was written a long time ago, judging from how fucking short it is.

***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends.”

-Marilyn Manson-

Mom's Knee Surgery

***MOM’S KNEE SURGERY***

A lot of my friends and family members are asking about this, so I’m going to use this journal entry as an opportunity to answer those lingering questions. This past Tuesday morning, my mom had surgery on her left knee. This operation had been a long time coming since she was always having trouble walking around, especially when it came to climbing stairs. There was even a time during our Hawaiian vacation back in October where she had to be pushed around in a wheelchair to get to our flights on time.

Dale and I visited Mom in the hospital yesterday and she was in good spirits. She said that the surgery wasn’t anywhere near as bad as she thought it was going to be and that she would recover quickly and uneventfully. The whole operation took an hour and half and she was up and walking by herself a short time later. She had to use a walking device that we borrowed from our next door neighbors Bill and Chris and it turned out to be a huge help in her getting around. I can’t thank my neighbors enough for their undying support.

Earlier today, Mom came home with Dale doing the driving. Mom isn’t allowed to drive for at least six weeks while her knee heals. She’s also going to need to take Vicodin in case her pain flares up. I personally would have suggested medical marijuana since it’s legal in Washington state, but I’m pretty sure it’s a banned substance when it comes to receiving social security benefits. Oh well. Mom is a fighter when it comes to hardships. She survived the remodeling of two houses in 2016, one in North Carolina and one on our own home. She also survived a rat infestation which has her traumatized for life. At 69 years old, she still has a lot to give in this life. If she needs hair fuzzles and shoulder rubs along the way, I’m more than happy to give them to her.

Tomorrow morning, she begins physical therapy to rehab her knee. I’ve had physical therapy before when I had to tighten my left labrum back in place, so if she needs encouragement or experience, she can turn to me. Yes, the exercises can be excruciating sometimes (especially for a 69-year-old woman), but all of the hard work will be worth it in the end. We have a Mexican cruise planned in March, so she’ll have plenty of time to get her knee ready for some fun in the sun. I’d love to see Mom swimming around with manta rays and turtles like we did when we were in Hawaii in 2010.

Just like with any physical setback, the road to recovery is going to take some time and hard work. My mom has been through a lot in her lifetime, so doing physical therapy exercises isn’t at the top of the list when it comes to hardships. She can get through this. I know she can. She’ll have all of us to cheer her on. And then when she comes home for the day, she can fall asleep in her rocking chair with a kitty on her lap and Bones on TV. I always rib her for being a stereotypical old lady who falls asleep in her chair, but it’s all in good fun. To be honest, she’s earned her right to snooze and snore for as long as she wants to. She’s a wonderful mother and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

If you want to wish my mom a speedy recovery, then you can do so in this blog entry. Thanks in advance! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new contest started yesterday and the theme will be “Brand New”. When I posted this synopsis on Good Reads, I already had someone say they could relate to the main character (Bernard). Let’s hope he can keep relating when I actually write the story. It’s called “A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Swear Words” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Bernard Hamm, Corpulent Author
2. Diego Martinez, Obnoxious Photographer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Bernard’s debut novel could be considered brand new.

SYNOPSIS: Bernard’s debut novel was just published and he’s promoting it at a local bookstore by signing free copies. His only request is that nobody takes pictures of him due to his self-consciousness about his weight and general appearance. Diego completely dishonors Bernard’s request by pulling out his smart phone and taking unwanted selfies with him. Diego justifies his forceful photography by saying the author owes it to his fans and that this is a free country. Bernard becomes increasingly angry with the intrusive picture taking and attempts to strangle Diego with his own bare hands. Diego goes so far as to threaten a lawsuit against his attacker, but Bernard doesn’t care.

FUN FACT: This story is inspired by an incident that happened to Amy Schumer a few years ago when an obsessive fan took unwanted pictures of her in South Carolina. Now Miss Schumer won’t allow pictures of any kind because of what happened.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the chopping block is Casey Carter, the creepy undertaker from “Having a Cold One”. Come to think of it, there aren’t really any heroes in that story. It’s just two villains fighting over a dead body, but for different and often disturbing reasons. I already did a drawing of the other character in that story, Jay David, so Casey Carter was naturally next.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CUSTOMER: Cute cat. What’s his name?

RANDAL: Annoying Customer.

CUSTOMER: Fucking dickhead!

-Clerks-

Slip Away

***SLIP AWAY***

If you’re single and you’re agonizing about it, stay as far away as possible from “Slip Away” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks. The melodic and gentle piano, the somber bagpipes, and Charlee Brooks’ gorgeous voice will all come together to open those floodgates you call tear ducts. I have to be honest with you guys: Valentine’s Day was depressing this year. I’ve pretty much given up on agonizing over my single status, but I was so depressed that day that I ordered a pizza and ate the whole thing. The next day was much better, but Valentine’s Day was just…bleh! “Slip Away” was one of the songs I made the mistake of listening to on that lonely day. Here are the lyrics:


VERSE 1
The seasons change
And age our temporary souls
Chasing fate
Along it's winding road
Flames burn bright and pass into smoke
But our love
Will dance among the stars
Down the streets of gold

PRE-CHORUS
I am bound to you
By more than what divides us

CHORUS
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
Into an endless stream
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
And you can rescue me
Close your eyes
And drift into a shining memory
I'll see you again where the sky touches the sea

VERSE 2
And with your love
You've painted vivid colors on my heart
Your light will always illuminate my dark

PRE-CHORUS
I am bound to you
By more than what divides us

CHORUS
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
Into an endless stream
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
And you can rescue me
Close your eyes
And drift into a shining memory
I'll see you again where the sky touches the sea

ABRIDGED VERSE 1
The seasons change
And age our temporary souls
Chasing fate
Along it's winding road


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

For this week’s contest, the authors were given a list of quotes to choose from as their prompt. I chose mine and now I have a story to write. I’ve been needing an excuse to write “A Real Woman” for months now, especially after John Oliver did one of his monologues about transgender struggles.


CHARACTERS:

Jenny Andrews, Transgender Gym Student
Melissa Moore, Transphobic Bully
Jessica Sullivan, Kindred Spirit Gym Teacher
Random Female Gym Students

QUOTE OF CHOICE: "Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain." -Bob Dylan

SYNOPSIS: In the girls locker room at Richmond High School, a male-to-female transgender student named Jenny shows up to get changed into her workout clothes. She is confronted by Melissa, who believes she’s still a man and encourages other female students to gang up on her. A few cuts and bruises on Jenny’s body later, Miss Sullivan shows up to back everyone away and tend to the injured transsexual.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Faye Blood’s drawing is now up and she is the second Dark Fantasy Warrior to be done with colored pencils. Up next, we’ve got another fierce fighting female: Jill Henderson, the racist mercenary from “Born to Die”. She was a giantess among insects, both in terms of physical stature and intimidating power.


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: Oh, what? What’s with you, man? You haven’t said anything for like twenty minutes! What the hell’s your problem?

DANTE: This life.

RANDAL: This life?

DANTE: Why do I have this life?

RANDAL: Have some chips, you’ll feel better.

DANTE: I’m stick in this pit working for less than a slave’s wages, I’m working on my day off, the goddamn steel shutters are closed, I smell like shoe polish, I have to deal with every backward ass fuck on the planet, my ex-girlfriend is catatonic after fucking a dead guy, and my present girlfriend has sucked thirty-six dicks.

RANDAL: Thirty-seven.

DANTE: My life’s in the shitter right now and if you don’t mind I’d like to stew a bit.

-Clerks-


***POST-SCRIPT***

Speaking of Clerks, does anybody here know if Kevin Smith is officially planning to make a third Clerks movie? The last time I heard, it’s going to feature a love triangle between Dante, Becky from the second movie, and Veronica from the first. I could be wrong.

Adapting to Change

***ADAPTING TO CHANGE***

We live in an era where everything we do has the potential for artistic merit. In the past, I’ve covered topics like reusing abandoned buildings, home improvement, and building Magic: the Gathering decks, all of which qualify as being creative projects if done in an innovative way. I’d like to add something else to this list, an underrated form of creativity that often gets taken for granted: adapting to change. As long as we live our lives, life will give us all the change we need. Whether it’s good change or bad change, the only way we can seek to improve ourselves is by rising from the ashes every time.

Writers have to adapt to change on a regular basis, especially if they’re working one-on-one with an editor. An editor’s job is simple: read an author’s manuscript and point out what things worked, what things didn’t, and what could be done to improve the things that didn’t. It is not an editor’s job, however, to make these changes for you. Yes, you have a better idea of what to change, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide how you will change those things. Even if an editor gives you a solution at your request, you, the author, are ultimately the one who says “yes” or “no” to that decision. When a writer has successfully adapted to the changes his manuscript is presented with, he will have a stronger product. He may have to edit several more times after that, but every time the literature will become stronger.

Episodic television shows have to adapt to change all the time. A screenwriter can produce weeks, months, or even seasons of television far in advance. But if an actor leaves the show, budgets become constrained, or the ratings aren’t high enough, adapting to change becomes more important than ever and all of that advance television has to be rewritten and reedited to accommodate those changes.

The original version of NCIS (Washington DC) has gone through several lineup changes during its current thirteen year run. In 2005, Sasha Alexander (Special Agent Caitlin Todd) left the show for unknown reasons, so her character was sniped by an Israeli terrorist named Ari. Ever since then, the audience was treated to Ziva David, a socially awkward, yet badass Probationary Agent. In 2013, Cote de Pablo (Ziva’s actor) left the show also for unknown reasons, so her character went back to Israel due to crippling guilt. She was replaced by socially awkward NSA analyst turned NCIS Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Don’t worry, because Emily Wickersham (Ellie’s actor) isn’t going anywhere for the time being. Michael Weatherly (Tony DiNozzo) on the other hand is leaving at the end of this current season. So many changes, so little time.

The WWE has to adapt to changes all the time, so that will keep the creative writers busy for a long, long time. In 2015, there were a shit ton of injuries that prevented certain wrestlers from competing. Seth Rollins tweaked his knee and had to give up the WWE World Heavyweight Championship, which is currently being held by his former Shield mate Roman Reigns. Daniel Bryan suffered a concussion and had to give up the Intercontinental Championship, which was won by Ryback in an Elimination Chamber match, won by Kevin Owens at Night of Champions, and won by Dean Ambrose at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. Then Tyson Kidd, Cesaro, John Cena, and Sting started getting injured. The Divas division wasn’t safe either since Paige had concussion issues, Sasha Banks injured her knee, Nikki Bella snapped her neck, and Rosa Mendes became a mother for the first time in her life. Choosing wrestlers to take these injured workers’ places is a critical decision that must be made on the fly. Entire storylines have to be rewritten all over again to accommodate these new wrestlers.

Just like with every journal, I’m going to use my own life as an example as well. My life is for the most part pretty routine, humble, and satisfying. Major changes in my life are rare, but when they do happen, they usually come in the form of a schizophrenic attack. Offensive images and sounds will invade my mind to where I “flinch” away from them to minimize the pain. But as I flinch from them, I’m also flinching from other aspects of my life that I derive pleasure from, the most important one being heavy metal music. How do I adapt to a schizophrenic attack? Listening to more new age music is my most common method. I’ve written a shit ton of heavy metal song lyrics during schizophrenic episodes and they were well received by the public. But just recently, I’ve had to learn how to confront my schizophrenic demons. I had to play the images and sounds in my head so many times without flinching until the fear of them is conquered and dead. I’m no longer afraid of my own mental demons because I looked them in the eye and said, “Fuck you, I’m not moving!” The gatekeepers to my happiness have gone home…but for how long?

Change can come in many forms: a new city to live in, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a physical injury, and many others that are easy to relate to. Learning how to live a normal life in the face of these changes is what will make you strong enough to never regret those changes happening. Change is inevitable, but strength is forever. No amount of change will make life impossibly hard to live. You simply learn to work around those issues and face the next challenge with a warrior’s spirit. Any piece of art can be created from the remains of destruction. The main character from Pink Floyd the Wall smashed up his hotel room and turned the broken furniture into a collage. It’s an insane way to think about it, but then again, insanity and creativity have strong ties to each other. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The next warrior to be drawn will be a villainess named Domino Gunn. If you’ve been following my art career in 2007, you would have seen her in a movie script called World of Darkness, where she was a lingerie-wearing dark paladin whose weapon of choice was a ball in chain. In today’s world, she’s a villainess in the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Stone Cold”. She tries to seduce the vengeful barbarian Brutus Warpath, but gets her throat ripped out instead. A lovely fate for a lovely lady.


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: You know what the real tragedy of all of this is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!

RANDAL: Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck like I’m the source of all your fucking misery! Who closed the store to play hockey?! Who closed the store to go to a funeral?! Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one?! You want to blame somebody for all of this?! Blame yourself! “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here! You came here on your own volition! You like to think the weight of the world is on your shoulders like, “This place would fall apart if Dante wasn’t here!” You overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job! You push fucking buttons! Anybody can waltz in here and do what we do! You make it sound so much more epic, so much more important than it really is! Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well! You know, that guy Jay has it right! He has no illusions about what he does for a living! Us, we like to think we’re so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a newspaper or, God forbid, cigarettes! We look down on those people like we’re so advanced! Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, why are we working here?!

-Clerks-

Physical Fitness

***PHYSICAL FITNESS***

This coming January, my family and I are going to renew our memberships at the YMCA and exercise there on a regular basis. It’s that time again. It’s time for me to get my big ass back in shape. I’ve seen pictures of myself in the past where I look fantastic and then compare them to how I currently look in the mirror. It’s not a good feeling. What makes me feel better about my weight loss quests is that I’ve been a skinny man before and I can sure as hell do it again. But here’s where it gets tricky: weight loss has always been a back and forth battle for me. I’d make a plan, I’d stick to it, and I’d lose a lot of weight. Then I deviate from the plan just slightly and my weight spirals out of control once again. It’s a cycle I’m eventually going to have to break, but it can’t be done without people supporting me, which means no offers for fast food or ice cream and a staunch commitment to exercise every day despite tiredness.

The other part of this equation is my rebellious attitude towards the weight loss quest. I keep thinking that I have to do these ultra-hard exercises like Cross Fit or hour-long running or else I’m not going to lose any weight. I know for sure that’s not necessarily true, but I keep having scenarios play out in my head exactly like that. I’m not athletically minded by any stretch of the imagination. If I do any super-tough exercises, I’ll tire out within ten seconds tops. I don’t have it in me to ignore my tiredness, so I quit right away. I don’t want to be an athlete who plays sports. I just want to be healthy. Athletes have to do torturous things to their bodies just to maintain their energy. As an autism patient with increased sensitivity to stimuli, I feel the pain of intense exercise tenfold what a normal person feels.

To my way of thinking, physical fitness should come in the form of a handout. I know that’s not entirely realistic, but working that hard to achieve a smaller belly doesn’t appeal to me. But I also know that weight loss gimmicks like fat burning pills and surgery have dangerous side effects that overshadow any tiredness I feel from an intense workout. Here’s the truth: there are no handouts when it comes to physical fitness. If there were, America wouldn’t be the obese country that it is today.

While my plan for physical fitness isn’t in the form of shortcuts nor is it the ninth circle of hell, I do intend to find middle ground between the two. Thus, we have water walking, something I’ve done in the past with a lot of success. I get in the lap pool, run one way, and high-knee march the other. Fighting against water resistance is hard work and will get me the cardio I need. What makes it doable is the warmth of the water and how soothing it is to my joints. Because of this, I don’t actually feel the aches and pains of exercising until after I get out of the pool, which is when I’ve been walking for a whole hour. As the months go by and I start to weigh less, it’ll become two hours. And then three.

I was hesitant about this plan at first because I was rebelling against the idea that my heavy body was compromising my health. Every time I was told that I could have a heart attack or that harder exercises and a kale diet were the answer, I felt like I was being insulted. Insulting me doesn’t motivate me to work harder. It makes me resent the one doing the insulting. When my feelings and individuality are both considered, however, then that’s when exercising and dieting become more natural to me.

In January, the road to physical fitness begins once again. And once I’m on that road, I want to stay on it indefinitely. One slight detour could result in the world’s biggest fiery crash. That means no more ice cream, no more convenience store food, and the only fast food I’m going to agree to eat is from Subway. I’m all onboard with a plan like this. All I need is for people to come through for me and support me in this plan one-hundred-percent. I want to wear smaller clothes. I want to fit into whatever chair I’m sitting on. I want to do basic things without being winded right away. I want to live to be a hundred and look back on life with no regrets. I’m ready. Is everyone else?

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: My mom told me a story one time that when I was three, my potty lid was closed. So instead of opening it, I shit my pants.

RANDAL: Lovely story.

DANTE: Look, the point is, I’m not the kind of person who disrupts things just so I can shit comfortably.

-Clerks-

Getting With the Times

***GETTING WITH THE TIMES***

As someone who openly admits to being a millennial who still plays with toys, being time conscious isn’t one of my strong suits. I don’t follow trends, I don’t care if an interest of mine is dated, I don’t care what’s considered cool by other people, and I’ll wear pretty much whatever I want as long as it’s comfortable. The times may have changed, but my core values have not.

It didn’t occur to me how behind in the times I was until I was editing a short story for American Darkness called “Not Gonna Die”. In this story, there’s a party going on in the main character’s dormitory and the music that’s blasting out of the speakers is “Brass Monkey” by The Beastie Boys. I know of that song, because I was born in 1985, which means I’m twelve years older than the college kids in this story. There aren’t many 18-year-olds who know who the Beastie Boys are, so in order to have realistic cool kids who keep up with the times, I chose rap music that was a little more modern in Tech N9ne. No complaints yet.

Having an old school state of mind is easy for me because nobody has challenged me on it and anybody who did was met with the same nonconformist argument I give everyone. I actually had my brother James tell me that, “Nobody listens to Disturbed anymore.” I do. I listen to them a lot. They may have been popular in the early 2000’s, but to my way of thinking, they’ve stood the test of time in the year 2015. Obviously, my older brother is very time conscious while I couldn’t give two shits what year it is.

When it comes to my writing career, however, it should stand to reason that I have a new school state of mind, because websites like Twitter and Face Book are the future of book marketing. I do have a Face Book account under my real name of Garrison Haines-Temons. I don’t, however, have a Twitter account anymore. There were three separate occasions where I’ve had a Twitter account, but realizing it was about as useful as an asshole on my bicep, I’ve walked away several times and I have no plans to go back.

I also don’t have a smart phone like pretty much everybody does. I have a generic cell phone and even though it has texting capabilities, I don’t take advantage of them. Sending off misspelled sentences with cheesy emoticons isn’t appealing to me since I have too much respect for the English language. As far as technology goes, the only “cool” things I have are my desktop computer, Roku streaming device, and a generic MP3 player from a company that went out of business apparently.

Getting with the times isn’t something that appeals to me very much. If I want to follow a trend, I want that trend to actually have some substance to it. It’s the difference between choosing The Beastie Boys versus Lil’ Wayne or Nirvana versus…some rock band in the 2010’s I’ve never heard of before. There are things in the present day that appeal to me such as the metal bands Gemini Syndrome and Nothing More, which goes to show that it’s not about the time period something comes from, but rather the importance of its message. Rage Against the Machine is a relic from the 90’s, but their music still means something to me.

I have one last message for you all before I get into the posts about my latest artistic endeavors. Unga-bunga. Me caveman. Me want substance. Me no care about coolness! Me have ears! Me say cheers!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The official date of this journal’s publication is October 30^th, which means I still have two more days of Villains Month left. And man, do I have a villain for you guys: Ryan Brock from my most recent short story “Streetwalker”. We all know that rape is a bad thing, but Ryan Brock takes the humiliating and traumatizing act to a whole different level when he forces himself on a mage named Danielle Courtney. That’s a villain in my book!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

I have to be frank with you guys. Although Random.org has chosen “Death Blade” as the next short story to edit, I’m not looking forward to it at all. Don’t get me wrong, Marie’s comments never scare me. In fact, they make me laugh and feel lighthearted. It’s the actual job of editing that frightens me about “Death Blade”. It was my first official entry at the WSS Contest and Company and I wasn’t as good in late 2013 as I am now. In other words, what scares me the most…is my own unpolished writing. Maybe I’ll shelve Death Blade and choose a different one to edit for now.

　

***JANUARY FIRST***

I’ve been spending the past few days trying to bulldoze through another paperback book. Whenever I get in this mood, every other creative project takes a backseat with the exception of competing in WSS contests. What makes January First by Michael Schofield so special is its ability to speak to me personally. Like little Janni, I too have schizophrenia and I recognize her struggles. Watching her spiral into madness is heartbreaking and has almost brought me to tears a few times. I plan on giving this book an Extra Credit grade when I finish reading it, which it desperately needs because some troll assholes on Good Reads are peppering it with uneducated one-star reviews. I’ve heard of that kind of trolling happening to authors before, so I take good care not to believe anything those people say.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WYNARSKI: Excuse me, have you seen a set of keys around here?
RANDAL: No time for love, Dr. Jones.

-Clerks, a movie made in 1994 when renting movies from a video store was still “cool”-

Weird Ass Dreams

***WEIRD ASS DREAMS***

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

　

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

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

　

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


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

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

-Clerks-

Not For Business

***NOT FOR BUSINESS***

When I was transitioning from a kid to an adult, I gave up acting out scenes with my action figures and Legos. I had the mindset that if I wasn’t doing something to further my future career as a screenwriter (which is what I wanted to be at the time), then extracurricular activities were unnecessary and therefore a waste of time. I’m sure there are many adults who feel business-minded enough that their careers are their whole lives.

I’m telling you all right now, your career, no matter how passionately you feel about it, is not your whole life, and no extracurricular activities you undertake are a waste of time. Putting time into a career is only a small part of what life is supposed to be. The other part of that equation is…living! I had this struggle when I was drawing pictures of my characters for the first time. At first I thought to myself, “What does drawing pictures have to do with my career as a writer?” Technically, I could put them in my books as part of a mini-gallery, but ultimately, drawings have little impact on my writing career. The past me would have been terrified at that notion. The current version of me couldn’t give two shits.

Working the same job for endless hours can get tiring no matter how dedicated you are. Even the most passionate people have to learn to step away for a while and take the edge off. The now former drummer for Nothing More, Paul O’Brien, left the band because the hectic touring schedule has completely drained him. He was already dealing with social anxiety and depression, so having an off switch for his career was next to impossible. Luckily, he’s still on good terms with his Nothing More band mates. But some coworkers and bosses aren’t so forgiving. CM Punk left the WWE on sour terms because his body was aching and nobody was giving him a break. When you have to quit your career just to take the edge off, that’s a sign that you needed to take the edge off a long time ago, but in shorter bursts.

So don’t feel guilty about getting nothing done to advance your career whatever that may be. Take a break. Feel good about feeling good. Watch a new show. Go for a walk. Find new music to listen to. Draw some pictures. Play some videogames. Hit the reset button on your mind and it when it comes time to get back to work, know your escapes will always be there for you. Do you think Dante and Randal from Clerks feel like serving the community all day long? Bullshit, man! They’re on the roof playing hockey and going for road trips to funeral homes! You can add years to your life, but first you have to learn to add life to your years. And if your legacy isn’t immortalized in bronze by the time life is over, just know that it never had to be. Do what makes you happy with the life you have left. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***

It’s a new week at the WSS, which means a new prompt for both storytellers and poets. Since I’m the former of those two, I’m going to write a Cat Lady story called “Ottie-Doo”, which goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　
　

Ottie, Elderly Witch Kitty
Randy Fender, Backwoods Cult Leader
Random Cult Members

　

　
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ottie is a cat who also happens to be a lady.

　

　
SYNOPSIS: Randy has plans to sacrifice Ottie in order to gain her magic powers. What he didn’t count on was Ottie tapping into her powers to fight back against the hairy cultist. The elderly kitty has an entire compound full of followers to fight off, but if anybody can do it, it’s the kitty who throws fireballs just for fun.

　

　

***DRAWING***

My next picture will be of Julian Heath, the gnome rogue protagonist from the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Ascension” (a title that will eventually change). I’m going to try and draw Julian in a way that will take up the whole page, but will also magnify his short stature. I’ve only successfully done this a handful of times, my most recent instance being with Baby from “Nail Bomb” (also from Poison Tongue Tales).

　

***PHOTOGRAPHY***

I’m normally known for taking pictures of my toys and my animals. I don’t take selfies often because I don’t like how the pictures magnify my overweight features. When I dress in my Slipknot costume for Halloween this year, I won’t mind the flashing camera so much. In fact, being overweight will probably help me look scarier than I already will be in that costume. Hehe!

　

***READING***

Now that Daniel Bryan’s memoir has been read and reviewed, it’s time to move on to a more time-sensitive piece of literature. Edward Davies, the author of Divine Intervention, encouraged me to join a group on Good Reads called Read Together, Blog Together. For the month of September, one the books under review is “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. It’s a quick and short read, so the review should be up in no time at all.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m gonna drink a big glass of milk, eat some chocolate chip cookies, and then maybe I’ll take three Viagra.”

-The Rock mocking Kurt Angle-

Creative Fuel For Kids

***CREATIVE FUEL FOR KIDS***

When I was a kid and I got in trouble, I made no mention of the media I liked because if I did, that particular medium would get taken away from me. I’m sure we can all relate to this in one way or another. Let’s say for instance you and your older brother wanted to practice martial arts. One of you gets injured, so what do the parents do? They take away your Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee movies. As a kid, you keep insisting that those movies don’t make you act the way you do and there may be some truth to that.

However, there’s also a truth to the ratings they put on TV shows, movies, and videogames. If a seven-year-old watches the Faces of Death documentary from the late 1970’s, then he’ll grow up thinking those graphic images are a normal part of life. In some ways they are, but that mentality takes away from the beauty that life can become. That’s not to say that movies turn kids into murderous sociopaths, because that’s a stretch. Those same movies do however define normality for those kids for the rest of their lives.

Take me for instance. I didn’t become a fan of WWE until I was six years old and at that age, I didn’t want to believe it was scripted and that wasn’t how people fought in real life. Over the years, WWE started incorporating more disgusting storylines that involved racism, sexism, sexuality, and humiliation. I watched all of that until my mom banned wrestling from the house for the foreseeable future.

But that didn’t stop me from finding other sources of creative fuel that were to my liking. I watched Pulp Fiction when I was 11 and didn’t question any of that movie. I had it in my mind that you didn’t have to be a racist in order to use racial slurs. Boy, was I wrong. I watched Clerks when I was 13 and thought the words “cock” and “cunt” were exclusive to that movie. I was wrong again.

And then I was 14 years old when I watched my first soft-core porn movie. It was called Playtime and focused on female masturbation. Ever since watching that horny movie, I started looking for internet porn and somehow thought sticking a ball gag in a girl’s mouth and sucking her feet was an instant turn-on. It’s not. In fact, most girls I know think that’s weird.

So let’s take an inventory of all the horrible things I thought were normal: violence as a solution to everyday problems, women dressing in skimpy clothing, racial slurs with no racism behind them (or so I thought), instant lesbianism, gay jokes in public places, god knows what else. Good thing I’m not a sociopath or else this would have been a really destructive life.

In spite of all the misconceptions of what acceptability was, I’d like to think I’ve always been on the benevolent side of the spectrum. I got in so many fights in high school not because I was a psychopath, but because I wanted to end bullying and injustice. Ending those things is admirable on any level. So at best, my intentions were always pure, but my methods were questionable. Cussing out internet folk to end trolling? Doesn’t work. Using ball gags and duct tape during an internet version of “making love”? Doesn’t work without consent. Using the word “faggot” because Immortal Technique used it liberally despite being a leftist? Yeah, not going to happen.

I’m not trying to convey the message that media makes small children into school shooters. It doesn’t. It does however set the standards for what children perceive as normal and justified as they grow up into adults. Children absorb everything like a sponge. And I do mean everything. They don’t develop a strong filter for bullshit until they’re teenagers, where they rebel against everything that doesn’t agree with their lifestyles.

I suppose you could blame parents for allowing kids to see things they shouldn’t, but that’s not necessarily true. Kids today have access to materials that can be hidden from even the most watchful parent’s view. Even if parents could monitor their children 24/7 (which they can’t), kids can be sneaky and venture into worlds that nobody else can stop them from seeing.

Frankly, I’m more concerned about parents who abuse their children instead of parents who fail to catch their children watching a bloody kung fu flick. I was fortunate enough to have loving parents and a healthy childhood. No school shootings or other criminal behavior here. In fact, I have no criminal record at all, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about.

I was bound to have a wakeup call sooner or later on what was decent and what wasn’t. In the summer of 2014, I wrote an erotic short story for the WSS called “Tainted Love”, where the female protagonist was bound and gagged by a complete stranger and loved every minute of it. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. No woman in her right mind would ever think being kidnapped by a criminal is sexy. But that’s what maturity is all about: having experiences, learning from the mistakes, and chipping away at the rough edges to make a beautiful sculpture.

I’ve said enough for today. I welcome all viewpoints and talking points as long as they’re decent and maturely presented. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***

The new week started yesterday and the theme is “homeless”. My story, should I get around to writing it, will be called “I, Barbarian”. Yes, I get stereotyped by my family a lot for writing barbarian stories, so if you have a joke, let it out now or forever hold your peace. The story goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Magnus Warcry, Bear Barbarian
Corey Darkside, Human Barbarian
Ace Hank, Sheriff

　

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Corey is being accused of vagrancy, which is defined as wandering around without a permanent address (aka being homeless).

　

　

SYNOPSIS: Ace brings Corey to the police station on charges of vagrancy and resisting arrest. While he’s interrogating her, she insists that her barbarian gimmick isn’t an act and that Magnus Warcry must be defeated. Ace is contemplating sending Corey to a mental institution when Magnus shows up to the police station and starts mauling everything and everyone in sight. Not only is Corey Darkside not crazy after all, but she might be Paulson City’s only hope in this battle of primitive warriors.

　

***AMERICAN DARKNESS***

Yes, I know you all were expecting three more edited short stories, but they won’t get here today or even tomorrow. I took a one-day vacation from editing today so that I could catch up on my reading obligations to Edward Davies, Paul McAvoy, and Daniel Bryan. I’ll probably take another one-day vacation so that I can concentrate on “I, Barbarian”. I can take as many vacations as I want, so suck it. Besides, I only have four more stories from American Darkness to edit, so I’ve pretty much got this in the bag.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Ladies, at least one time in your man’s life (at least once, don’t let him lie), he has stood in front a full-length mirror absolutely naked and he tucked his dick between his legs to see what he’d look like as a woman. And men, if you haven’t done that yet, you will now that I’ve mentioned it.”

-Tommy Blaine-

Sonya Jade

NAME: Sonya Jade
AGE: 18
OCCUPATION: Student
CANON: Beauty and the Barbarian


As humans looking for a loving companion, we owe it to ourselves and our partners to find a balance between romance and shallowness. We all have shallow instincts whether we want financial stability or physical beauty from our significant other. And then you have a woman like Sonya Jade, who recently got “fired” from a short story that was included in the now defunct anthology Dragon Machinegun, “Beauty and the Barbarian”. Her claim to fame would have been the fantasy genre’s most shallow woman if she actually rose to that level of notoriety.

Sonya was the beauty, obviously, and the barbarian was a super handsome gentleman named Ogre Bladefist. Sonya found herself in trouble no matter where she went. She was almost molested by a group of goblins after leaving a tavern drunk as a skunk. She was also bloodily spanked by a group of teachers and schoolmasters at a religious college. Who would rescue her from both of these brutal assaults? Ogre, no less. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was also a vicious fighter who shattered bones with the laziest of efforts. A muscle-bound stud with ponytail hair and overly protective fighting skills? Cha-ching! Sonya scored big time!

Sonya would have spent the rest of the night in bed pleasuring herself if it hadn’t been for Ogre sneaking into her cottage and…(clears throat)…”giving her a hand with that”. The orgasm of the century was on the horizon until a bitchy old witch named Rose Lovelace tracked Ogre down and turned him into the most hideous monster she could think of. Brown razor teeth, shit-covered fur, constant green drool…basically, all of the things in a monster that gave Sonya nightmares and nausea fits. Could she still love her man after all of this?

Therein lies the question of the day. If she was really the deep thinking, three-dimensional character we all want to get behind (in more ways than sodomy), then she would have stayed with Ogre until the very end. But she didn’t. She immediately demanded that her man sneak into Rose Lovelace’s castle and abscond a cure for his ugliness. After an uphill battle with the nearly indestructible Rose, Ogre found the cure, but chose not to stay with Sonya after she showed her true colors. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him for the choice he made and my readers probably couldn’t either.

So there you have it: a harsh way of telling my audience to choose everlasting love and a beautiful soul over something as temporary as good looks and an oversized bank account. As someone with a round tummy and no employment history, I’ve been preaching this message for a long, long time. Am I biased? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean the message can’t have any meaning. Unfortunately, due to the piss-poor writing style I used to write “Beauty and the Barbarian”, it never saw the fame and fortune it could have potentially had.

Besides, what could I truly do with a woman like Sonya Jade? Her shallow point of view doesn’t make her very sympathetic. But her beauty could be an asset to someone for reasons other than animalistic sex. She has long purple hair, milky white skin, rose red lips, and irises that live up to her last name. That, and she happens to be a passionate lover. I could see Sonya Jade being a seductive rogue character in a D&D campaign. She could use her beauty and passion to make men (and lesbian women) fall in love with her while Sonya steals their riches right from under their noses.

And then to really make her three-dimensional, she could donate her treasure to a worthy cause such as protecting animals from being abused or giving shelter to rape victims who want to run away from their own abusers. As my lovely beta reader Marie Krepps once said, “Talk dirty to me!” Of course, she wasn’t trying to come on to me; she was merely suggesting that my ideas were good. I hope she likes this idea as well!

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are millions of fine-looking women in the world. They won’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”

-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-

Wade Fish

NAME: Wade Fish
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: Prisoner
CANON: Pretty Colors


When certain people grow up with a tough life in a crime-infested neighborhood, they look for positive ways to leave it all behind. Some people turn to music, some turn to sports, some even go so far as to join the military. And then you have those who are so consumed with their demons that their only escape comes from the worst kind of drugs available, either from the streets or at the local Walgreen’s. Guess which kind of escapist Wade Fish turned out to be. I’ll give you a clue: it involves hypodermic needles, a snorting straw, and pill bottles.

When most people look at Wade, they only see his dirty appearance. They don’t see the past he tried to leave behind. He was bullied in school by teachers and students alike. He was abused by his step-father. Crime was everywhere in his ghetto neighborhood. At the age of 31, he still lived with his abusive step-father and frightened mother. To summarize everything I’ve just said, Wade was not only dealt a crappy hand, but he willingly gave up his chips in exchange for a life in the gutter.

If there was a drug within Wade’s reach, he did it and became a zombie afterwards. He swallowed pills despite not knowing what they were. He snorted cocaine despite never knowing where it came from. He shot heroin into his veins and formed infections around both arms. And when the high took over, he was unstoppable. Wade would lash out at anybody who passed him. It didn’t matter if you were a gangster, a school student, or even a cop on foot: if Wade had a knife, you were fucking dead. Unfortunately for him, he found the one cop who was willing to shoot him in the leg in order to subdue him

Though in today’s warrior cop world, Wade would have been dead a long time ago. But since I need a story worth writing, his story won’t end at the hands of a brutal police officer. While in prison, Wade is offered a chance at freedom on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”. If this sounds at all like a cheap knockoff of either A Clockwork Orange or the fourth story in Tales From the Hood, it’s because Pretty Colors was. And just like Crazy K from the latter of the two movies I’ve mentioned, Wade didn’t give a fuck about anybody’s feelings; he just wanted an easy way back on the streets.

The best way to relieve someone of traumatic stress is to take away their demons or at least neutralize them. In a part of prison called The Diamond Room (which is a colorful version of Crazy K’s sensory deprivation chamber), Wade Fish can do just that by confronting the people from his past who fucked him over. One by one, the “demons” come to life. First it’s his mother. Then it’s his teacher. Then its his stepfather. And now it’s a multi-headed hydra with all three of their heads, plus the heads of the warden and the scientist who created The Diamond Room in the first place. Wade goes into an “I don’t give a fuck!” rage at each of his demons and ends up dying in the colorful room due to a stroke brought on by a seizure.

After Wade dies, the REAL warden and scientist enter the room and say that The Diamond Room, “Just needs some fine tuning.” Really? That was the problem with this whole setup: it wasn’t tweaked enough? Never mind that a human being’s life was on the line. And by the way, just like with any prisoner, Wade’s legacy was buried deep within the beaurocracy of the prison and his body was thrown away like common garbage. Wisdom, justice, and love, my ass.

Even though Wade’s disturbing past is enough of a reason for him to gain sympathy, he will be cast as a villain for the next time I use him. He technically could be a “sympathetic villain”. Maybe he can be like the narrator in “A Million Little Pieces” and just be a lovable asshole. Either that or he can be a low level henchman who’s doing it all for the smack. So many doors can be opened for Wade Fish. All that’s left is for him to walk through one of those doors and become a literary icon. Or I could just bury him again, that always works out so well.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral home for violating a corpse, and to top it all off, you ruin my relationship! I mean, what is your encore?! Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?! You know what the real tragedy behind all of this is?! I’m not even supposed to be here today!”

-Dante Hicks from “Clerks”-

Hair Masters and Introversion

WWE superstar Daniel Bryan is one lucky dude. He’s got main event status, he’s got a super hot wife, he’s got legions of adoring fans, but the one thing I will always be jealous over is his love of having long hair and a scraggly beard. In other words, he doesn’t have to spend any money at Hair Masters because he lets his hair grow out. I don’t have that kind of tolerance for my own hair whether it’s growing on my head or on my face. When it’s long, it needs to be buzzed to half an inch of hair or else it’ll annoy the shit out of me. I have fast-growing hair, so these appointments at Hair Masters happen once every two or three months.

And then once I get comfortable in that barber’s chair, the verbal diarrhea flies at a million miles an hour. As an introvert, I despise small talk. There’s no point to it, it’s mentally draining, and the extroverts who try to engage me in it don’t actually give two shits about the answers I give them. I suppose I could remedy this problem with my barbers by telling them I’m introverted, but that wouldn’t be socially appropriate, would it? Then again, caring what other people think of me isn’t one of my strong points. If I can make a bunch of giggly Texan women uncomfortable, I can do the same with my barbers. Here are a few of the stupid questions I’ve been asked at Hair Masters along with my awkward responses:

BARBER: What do you do?
ME: Nothing.
BARBER: Nothing?
ME: I’m unemployed.
BARBER: You’re just hanging around?
ME: I guess.

I’ve often contemplated giving the answer of “I work with homeless children in the Democratic Society of Who Gives a Fuck”, but that would probably be more awkward than telling the barber I don’t have a job. Susan suggested to me that I say I’m “In between jobs”, but I’m not since I don’t have an employment history. What am I supposed to do, lie? Anyways, continuing on with the conversations I’ve had…

BARBER: Are you doing anything fun today?
ME: No.
BARBER: Oh….What do you like to do for fun?
ME: Read and write.
BARBER: Oh cool! What do you like to write?
ME: A little bit of everything.

At this point, I wonder when my barber is going to figure out that my life isn’t that exciting. Apparently, they never do, so the bullshit keeps flying.

BARBER: Have you lived here all your life?
ME: No.
BARBER: Where are you from?
ME: Here. I just haven’t lived here all my life.
BARBER: Oh.

Unless you’re planning on coming over to my house and watching the WWE Network with me, you have no business asking me where I live. It’s irrelevant. It’s meaningless. But most of all, it’s bullshit!

BARBER: Are you excited for school?
ME: I don’t go to school.
BARBER: Are you home schooled?
ME: I’m 29 years old.
BARBER: Oh! Are you doing the college thing?
ME: I already graduated.
BARBER: Oh cool! What did you get your degree in?
ME: English.
BARBER: What are you doing with your degree?
ME: I’m trying to be an author.
BARBER: You know what would be cool? If you wrote a book about World War II.
ME: I’m not interested.

If this woman was any nosier than she already is, she would be a police bloodhound. What does she need this information for, anyways?! Is that that starved for WW2 literature that she needs to ask a complete stranger with no interest in history to write it for her?! Speaking of history…

BARBER: What would you recommend for me to read?
ME: What do you like?
BARBER: Historical fiction.
ME: I don’t read historical fiction, so I wouldn’t know.
BARBER: Oh, okay.

Actually, my answer wasn’t entirely true. The last piece of historical fiction I read was “The Sisters Brothers” by Patrick DeWitt. It’s a western, but I don’t think that’s what she had in mind. Besides, it didn’t come to me during the conversation, so I left it out.

BARBER: Do you have any brothers or sisters?
ME: I have an older brother.
BARBER: Did he get his English degree too?
ME: He got a pharmacy degree.
BARBER: Oh cool!
ME: Me and my brother don’t like the same things.
BARBER: Oh.

Jesus, woman, get your nose out of my ass already! I shouldn’t have to sit at my computer desk writing something other than a WW2 novel with a rectal donut on my seat cushion! Ugh! Anyways, after these boring conversations that don’t lead anywhere, I feel so mentally exhausted that I need a nap when I get home. When I pay my bill, I leave a five dollar tip regardless of how nosy the barber was. Hey, I got a good haircut and you can’t argue with a good haircut. Then again, it’s hard to fuck up a buzz cut with half an inch of hair remaining. Any asshole off of the streets can do it. Maybe I should get myself a Wahl clipper and forget the pointless banter altogether.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“It’s a meaningless end to the story. Got no time for my forgotten glory. And now just when I know what I’m after, it just brings me to laughter. Just save up all your nickels and dimes. Let’s see what you’ll find and you’ll know. I guess I’m living day to day. Just hope that you get led astray. Hell yeah. I guess I’m living day to day. Hear what I say. I just died for a piece of the pie, but I’d be glad just to feast on the pie crust.”

-Love Among Freaks singing “Clerks”-