Spice 1 X Jack Perry: Sorry, Ben Shapiro, But Rap Music IS Real Music and Facts Don't Care About YOUR Feelings

 

Crazy K from Tales from the Hood vs. Charlie Kirk (Rest in Piss)

 

The Last Aqua Man

***THE LAST AQUA MAN***

Remember a blog entry a few weeks ago about my childhood soccer team The Thunder Eagles? Well, that wasn’t just a fun story. It’s now an undeveloped idea for a novel somewhere down the line. The reason Silent Warrior resonated so well was because it was loosely based on real experiences I had. The Last Thunder Eagle, as it’s now called, will hopefully resonate as well since I used to be a sore loser. In some ways, I still am a sore loser and perhaps this novel idea is what will exorcise those demons forever. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve already written the first chapter of Beautiful Monster and I intend to see that one through to the epilogue. Wish me luck!

But as long as I’m being inspired by stories from my past (that thankfully aren’t too traumatic), I might as well throw another one out there and see if it sticks. In the same way The Last Thunder Eagle is intended to be about soccer, The Last Aqua Man will be about swimming lessons, should it ever become a novel idea. When I was a kid, I already knew how to doggie paddle from point A to point B. But that just wasn’t enough for some reason, so my parents signed me up for swimming lessons at the community pool. Although I didn’t get hit with any soccer balls or knocked down, I still was not a happy camper.

There were six different levels of difficulty for these classes: Beginner’s Level Parts 1-4, Intermediate, and Advanced. During both rounds of swim lessons, I was placed in Beginner’s Level 4 and never passed to the next tier. One of the big reasons for this was because I hated sticking my head underwater without plugging my nose first. I hate water in my nose, I hate coughing it up, I hate blowing it out, and I hate water in my ears. I would have worn a pair of goggles that protected my nose, but the swim instructors wouldn’t let me use them. Instead they suggested that I hold my breath before sticking my head underwater. Didn’t work. I ended up feeling like a whitewashed version of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood. I know I make that reference a lot, but there aren’t a whole lot of movies out there where somebody shoves IV straws up another man’s nose, so that’s all I’ve got to work with.

During the second season of swim classes, one of our assignments was to dive right into the water, head first, arms extended. The first time I did this came without incident. In fact, my parents applauded me from the sidelines. And then with every successive time came more water in my nose and throat and not enough ways to expel it. After a while I just refused to dive and instead did a pencil jump while holding my nose shut. I already told you guys that I never passed either season of classes, but at this point I didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck. I was the Last Thunder Eagle and the Last Aqua Man all in one childhood. Sports really aren’t my thing after all. Hell, even gym class in general was an exhausting nightmare at times.

When I talked about The Thunder Eagles, I mentioned how soccer could be improved if hardcore violence was allowed. Well, I don’t think the same could be said for this blog entry. My misery was nobody else’s fault…this time. Nobody pushed me in the pool. Nobody tried to drown me. Nobody splashed me while I had my clothes on. Who was I going to beat the crap out of? The closest I could ever come to that would have to be literally cutting my nose off to spite my face. Yeah, that’s right! It’s my nose’s fault for allowing water to get in there in the first place. That’s not what noses are for! Isn’t that right, Melanie Good’s character from Die Watching? Now there’s a reference absolutely nobody is going to get…unless you’re into that sort of thing. Then again, “that sort of thing” is the only reason why I know that movie exists. How sad. How relentlessly sad.

So how exactly would The Last Aqua Man become a reasonable story? Would it be too similar to The Last Thunder Eagle? Am I just destined to write novels about sore losers my entire career? Mitch McLeod was a sore loser (when he did lose, which was not often). Mario Bryan was a sore loser. And now the main character from The Last Thunder Eagle, a ten-year-old named Alex Woodley, is going to be a REALLY sore loser. Brock Lesnar once said it best: in order to know how to win, you have to know how to lose. He was a sore loser in college and so am I in the real world.

And that’s the thing about life itself: failure is inevitable, but it’s how we react to it that will determine future success. Some people will pick themselves up and dust themselves off to go to work the next day. Others will crumble under the pressure and give up altogether. There were some things in my life that were worth continuing and some that I gave up on. I gave up on playing the guitar because I couldn’t move my fingers quickly enough across the frets. I gave up on playing Street Fighter IV because Abel kept getting cheap victories over me. I gave up on playing Magic: the Gathering because it became more about capitalism rather than the love of the game.

But when it comes to my creative outlets, mental health, and physical health, those are things I will never compromise on. These three things can’t exist without each other. I write for a living. I work on other creative endeavors for the love of art. I need a clear mind to do those things. And as far as physical health goes, I know my bulging belly will tell you otherwise, but I’ve actually lost a lot of weight in the past few months. I eat only three meals a day without snacking on sugary foods, I walk long distances whenever it’s nice outside, and I drink a lot of unsweetened iced tea. A lot! I haven’t kept track of how much weight I’ve lost, but I know I must be doing something right, because I can make it up and down the stairs without being overly winded. I guess there is life beyond childhood soccer and swimming. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: You know, Reina, there was once a time when I considered Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy VIII to be my own personal hero. He had no emotional attachments, no unnecessary relationships, and he mastered the art of giving zero fucks.

REINA: So basically your hero was an angsty teenager?

ME: No, that’s not what he is!

REINA: He sounds like an angsty teenager, Garrison. I bet he listens to a lot of Linkin Park.

ME: Final Fantasy VIII came out a few years before the first Linkin Park album.

REINA: He still would have listened to them.

Extremism

***EXTREMISM***

When you’re young and naïve, extreme comments can be very appealing, either because of comedic value or aspirations of badassery. As a teenager, blatantly offensive jokes were the funniest to me. During my early twenties, I still found them wildly hilarious despite me conforming to a college environment. With age comes wisdom and what was once cool in the past isn’t so cool anymore. My 33^rd birthday is this coming June and I’d like to think I at least have enough wisdom to know the difference between what’s acceptable and what’s not. I often find myself measuring my posts online for this very reason. Would you like to hear some of the salty stuff I said during my youth? You may find it darkly funny, then again, your jaw might fall on the floor. Either way, it’ll be a slight departure from the emotional diarrhea blog entries I’ve posted lately. Speaking of which, I finally learned the word that sums up the act of “Wrestling With My Mind”: brooding. How did I not learn this word earlier?!

This journal entry will have three different examples of extreme dialogue and the first one is the most contemporary example I can think of. The year is 2010 and a Roger Waters concert at the Tacoma Dome has just let out. I’m walking the streets with my dad, my step-mom Charlie, and her son Ryan. We’re walking adjacently to the train tracks and there are drunken morons wrestling around on them and yelling like lunatics. The drunks were warned by train station personnel to get off the tracks, but they kept hooting and hollering. When I describe this incident, I could just as easily say things like, “What a night that was!” or “I’m glad we got out of there!” But this is a blog entry about extreme dialogue, so instead I say…“I was kind of hoping the drunks would get run over by the train.” You all know via my poetry how I feel about drug addicts and alcoholics who behave obnoxiously in public, but this is a stretch even for me. And by stretch, I’m talking Gumby levels of stretchiness.

Example number two. The year is 2009 and I’m taking a creative nonfiction class at Western Washington University. As part of the class curriculum, we had to read certain books and one of them was “This Boy’s Life” by Tobias Wolff. There’s a scene where a young Tobias is with his mother at some kind of Seattle fair and these two bearded guys in flannel shirts approach them. The guys treat the Wolff family to sugary treats, hotdogs, and rides on bicycles. The smart thing for me to do would be to answer the actual assigned questions on the online forum for our class. But instead I…sort of…compare the two bearded men to the mountaineers from Deliverance. You know the ones. “Squeal, piggy!” The next day, the teacher announces that several people were offended by my post and that I should be careful about what I say on the internet. In hindsight, this was a good lesson. The problem? I was too arrogant to heed it, so I silently stewed for the rest of the class and laughed about it once we were dismissed.

Final example. The year is 2008 and I’m still attending school at WWU, this time for a dramatic writing class. The class met every Friday afternoon and that was when our scripts for short theater scenes were due. Mine happened to be about a kid named Kurt Liddell who had to be comforted by his girlfriend Georgia Cushing after getting a D- in US history. Kurt could have phrased his feelings any way he wanted. He could have wished for higher marks. He could have vowed to work harder. He could have wished for a transfer request. But no. He says something that would unfortunately be a hallmark for plenty of school-related stories in my future career (including, sadly enough, Silent Warrior). Kurt Liddell says…”Those Columbine kids had it right all along.” Let that sink in for a moment. Kurt channels the Columbine kids because he got a D- in school. If that’s not extreme behavior, I don’t know what is. Nonetheless, I got an A on that assignment and was given the opportunity to write more scenes in that series as an alternative to the scheduled work, so I thought that was pretty cool.

Needless to say, these were not years where I had my shit together. I’m 32 years old and some of my shit is still scattered here and there. If you learn one thing from this blog entry, it’s to not let your ego get in the way of a good lesson. No matter how good you are (or how good you think you are), there’s always room to improve your life, whether it’s creatively, professionally, or personally. The day you stop growing is the day you get complacent. Complacency can be smelled from miles away and it stinks like shit. If growing from extreme behavior is your way of moving on in this world, go for it. I know growing up sucks, but there are still aspects of youth that can be appealing to adults, Legos and videogames being chief among them. I’m Garrison Kelly! Keep climbing the mountain!

***THE NEXT NOVEL***

Silent Warrior has finally been put to bed for the very last time. It’s only a first draft, so there will be lots of editing in the future, which I’m very much looking forward to. In the meantime, I need a new novel to work on. The ideas that seem the most appealing to me right now are Beautiful Monster, Booger the Clown, and (maybe) Suck It Double Dork. Only Beautiful Monster has been developed from beginning to end. The other two need some fleshing out, which is why I spent so much time brooding in the first place. Heh. Brooding. I love that word! Brooding!

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

GANGSTER A: What about us?

GANGSTER B: That shit was wrong, man.

GANGSTER A: You just drove by and started blasting.

GANGSTER B: That shit was wrong, man.

GANGSTER A: We weren’t even the ones who capped your homie.

GANGSTER B: That shit was really wrong, G.

CRAZY K: Man, fuck you niggas! It was your set that did my homie Little Joe! You motherfuckers would try to kill me if you had the chance! Man, fuck you niggas! Fuck y’all!

-Tales from the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Andrew Gale a.k.a. Booger the Clown is a huge fan of gangster rap and the movie Tales From the Hood. If his story is the one I end up writing, TFTH will be referenced quite a bit. Hell, in the opening segment, I’ll have Andrew drive down a dark highway with “Born II Die” by Spice One blasting on his stereo. “My gat screamed fire! The bullet told me shoot that motherfucker, he’s a liar!” Man, I love those lyrics! Badass!

Gyro Psycho Modulator

VERSE 1

A Kafkaesque prison, you’ll never break out

Straws in your nose and a ball in your mouth

The tightest straps on your ankles and wrists

Clamp down on your gut with one more twist

Spinning in circles like the wheel of fortune

Your stomach boils in this evil torment

Your head bursts from all of the mind rape

Bringing torture back to medieval dates

CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator! X4

VERSE 2

You need to learn your hardest life lessons

Surrender your soul, lay down your weapons

You’ve done enough damage to your own kind

Let these necromantic images burn in your mind

Lynchings and shootings: what’s the difference?

They both come from those with sinful visions

You can spin forever on that torture table

Keep your supper down if you’re able

CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator! X4

VERSE 3

One last chance, you won’t get another

Confront the souls of your slain brothers

Tell them why you murdered their asses

Tell them why you terrorized the masses

Your Freudian excuses are so pathetic

Death and disease is your sick fetish

Tell me all you want how you give no fucks

Tell it to the gangsters who fill you with slugs

EXTENDED CHORUS

Gyro! Psycho! Modulator!

Sensory! Deprivation! Chamber!

Stripped! Naked! For slave labor!

You still! Reject! Your only savior!

FINAL LINE

Welcome to hell, motherfuckers!

Dark Identity

***DARK IDENTITY***

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times (actually, that number is pretty accurate, to say the least): creative fuel can come from anywhere, and I do mean anywhere. There’s a fucking movie about emojis, for shit’s sake (which is also accurate considering there’s a poop emoji as one of the main characters). Back in the year 2004, a different kind of creative fuel flooded my mind: an X-Box game called Unreal Championship. It’s a first person shooter featuring sci-fi creatures, clowns, robots, giants, the works. The female aliens and clowns had raspy voices that reminded me somehow of Starscream from the Transformers cartoons in the 80’s. Thus, the seeds are sown for a one chapter novel idea slash pencil and paper RPG called Dark Identity.

Keep in mind, this was the year 2004, so I was five years away from being a serious reader and even further away from being a semi-pro. In a world of genetic engineering and stratified warriors, you had a badass motherfucker named Dujak Heil (nice last name; not racist at all). He went to a peaceful town armed to the tooth and got arrested for vagrancy in a scene laced with profanity and anti-Nazi references (from a guy whose last name was Heil).

This was the second and final story I submitted to my creative writing class at Olympic College (the same one where I went berserk after a kid named Patrick said my writing sucked). This second outing was much better than the Raggyd presentation. I had students tell me my story should be on Adult Swim. That’s a fucking compliment if I’ve ever heard one! And then I had a bearded troll named Alex tell me he wants Dujak to die a nasty horrible death. The feeling was mutual at the time.

Could Dark Identity have been something more than a one chapter cluster fuck? With some research on genetic engineering and serious commitment to the story, yes, it could have. Do I want to recreate this concept in the year 2017? Probably not. This whole story was centered around Unreal Championship fandom and hearing female clowns yell, “Enemy flag carrier is here!”

I officially beat Unreal Championship in February 2005 (just days after I was suspended from college for writing a nasty poem about my geology teacher). I’ve played it a handful of times with friends since then and that’s about it. So I guess it’s safe to say I’ve outgrown that game. I’d definitely consider playing it again to refresh my memory, but I must confess, the thumb stick sensitivity in that game makes it next to impossible to aim properly with anything but an automatic rifle.

Aside from outgrowing a popular X-Box game, maybe there was some truth to what Alex said about Dujak being a hate-worthy character. He betrayed his tribe, he brought weapons into a peaceful town, and he made wisecracks at the guards for trying to arrest him. Unless there’s some mustard behind those remarks, those aren’t likeable qualities in a main character. The best kinds of protagonists are the ones we can sympathize with. That’s why we have a lot of heroes as protagonists rather than villains: because most of us can relate to being good people with hearts of gold. Mitch McLeod needed a massive overhaul in his character in order to make Occupy Wrestling as polished as it is today.

Dark Identity is just another potentially good idea that got lost in the shuffle of other projects. It hasn’t aged well since 2004/2005, so it won’t be made into a novel or short story. The lesson of the day: not everything you touch will turn to gold. Knowing the difference between diamonds and coal is something all writers need to do. I once heard an internet personality call it a “crap detector”. We all think our crap detectors are strong until we’re proven otherwise, but even then some authors will fight that uphill battle until the end. Listening to your peers (the helpful ones) is paramount to success as an author. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***CREATIVE OUTPUT AND BOREDOM***

These days, I can’t really decide between having a lot of projects to do and having a small amount. I’m either bored out of my mind or overwhelmed to the point of chaos. I need to find a middle ground, but I’m no closer to finding it now than I was the past few weeks, where I had so little to do that I got bored easily. One of my solutions to this boredom is to write short stories for American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 outside of the WSS. I did that for the first Poison Tongue Tales book back in 2015 during NaNoWriMo and it was a massive success. Perhaps I could do it again this time around, provided I have the energy for it. It turns out, though, that the next AD2 story I plan on writing fits in with the WSS prompt for the week, which is “Searing”.

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 2: WE ARE THE MACHINE***

Yes, you’ll notice that both American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 have different subtitles than what I originally gave them. In the case of AD2, Black State could have so many different meanings that it could be misinterpreted. Now it’s called We Are the Machine. It sounds cool and nobody’s reading too much into its intended meaning. For this collection, the next story will be called “Street Warriors” (another title I’m considering changing) and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Samir the Skull Crusher, Indian Street Brawler
2. Crackers the Clown, Evil Clown
3. Kristen Miranda, Runaway Teen

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kristen starts the story by searching for shelter.

SYNOPSIS: Kristen runs away from home and finds herself in the darkest, dankest part of Paulson City. When she tries to warm up next to a garbage can fire, she’s confronted by Crackers the Clown, who claims that she doesn’t belong in these streets and needs to get the hell out. The only way Crackers will let Kristen stay is if she agrees to have sex with him, to which Samir the Skull Crusher intervenes, claiming to be the one who gets to have her. The two scary characters brawl while Kristen is cowering in the corner wishing she was home right now.

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

Here’s the story I plan on working on independently. It’s called “Mine All Mine” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Chris Buyatt, Capoeira Fighter
2. Michael Tyoni, Pyromancer
3. Nina Thomas, Politician

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Chris and Michael’s race against each other leads them to the Black Dust Salt Mine, where videotaped evidence against Nina’s corruption is being secretly kept. Chris wants to bring the evidence to light while Michael wants to use his pyromancy to burn it and save Nina from embarrassment. The warrior and the wizard battle it out with Mayor Thomas watching in the background with a shotgun in hand.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

With new characters come new drawings. The first on the barbecue rack is Chris Buyatt from Mine All Mine. He was previously used in my Final Fantasy videogame idea from 2002-2005 as Gail Reinhold’s ex-boyfriend, but has since been scrapped until now. Gail is now a part of the Poison Tongue Tales story “Zombie” and Chris will make his official debut in “Mine All Mine”.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CRAZY K: Sensory what?!

DR. CUSHING: Sensory deprivation chamber. You will see nothing, you will hear nothing. Your mind will have nothing to feed upon but itself. It’s a tiny meal indeed. Hahahahaha!

-Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

One Million Faces

***ONE MILLION FACES***

One of my mother’s favorite nicknames for me is Sonshine (no, that’s not a typo), so it’s only natural that for my 32^nd birthday she would buy me a copy of Anette Olzon’s solo album called “Shine”. Before her termination in 2012, Anette Olzon was the lead singer for Nightwish and Tarja Turunen’s replacement in that same band. Her solo album is a much softer departure from her work with Tuomas Holopainen’s symphonic metal band. I contemplated referring to Anette Olzon as the female Michael Bolton with her new soft rock sound, but I don’t know if she would take it as an insult or a compliment, so I decided to keep it to myself. Hehe! Anyways, my favorite track on the CD has easily become “One Million Faces”. I listen to that song more often than anything else on that album and it’s because of the melodic and sorrowful nature that I’ve grown attracted to in music recently. If you’re ever surfing You Tube, be sure to look up “One Million Faces” by Anette Olzon. Or better yet, buy her entire solo album and support her music career. She’s been through a rough breakup with both her ex-husband and her old band Nightwish, so she needs all the support she can get. There’s not one bad track on that CD, but you’ll really get sentimental about “One Million Faces”. These are the lyrics:

VERSE 1

Where are those hidden miracles
We once shared
The laughter in the night
No one knows how the story goes
Make believes
Hidden like a ghost

CHORUS

All I wanted in my life was you
Dreams and moments that was shared with you
One million faces but the one I knew
Were all a masquerade
One million faces

VERSE 2

In the dark
In the darkest night
All I hear are shadows from behind
Now I see all the things so clear
But my pain still remains the same

CHORUS

All I wanted in my life was you
Dreams and moments that was shared with you
One million faces but the one I knew
Were all a masquerade

One million faces

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Normally, I begin my litany of self-promotions by talking about my next WSS contest entry. Yesterday evening, I already posted “The Golden Angel”, so that kind of spoils the surprise of it all. But with this new piece of superhero fiction comes new characters to draw. I’ve already drawn The Golden Angel himself and he looks like a weird hybrid between Goldust and Stardust from the WWE. The Dark Paladin, Goldie’s nemesis, is next on deck and he’s going to look just as terrifying as he was in that story, minus the maggot-infested dick.

***THE BEST IN THE WORLD: AT WHAT I HAVE NO IDEA***

If you follow me on Good Reads, you would have noticed that I deleted “Dana White: King of MMA” by June White from my reading list. I tried to read it earlier today, but I just couldn’t get into it. She repeats herself a lot, she has a boring writing style, and she tells instead of shows. I didn’t want to give her a one-star review because I generally don’t like giving those since they have the power to ruin an author’s reputation. So instead of dragging June White’s name through the mud, I decided my next nonfiction book should be a breath of fresh air: “The Best in the World: At What I Have No Idea” by Chris Jericho. Chris has always been a source of wisdom and entertainment in books past, so this third memoir of his should be just as exciting and fun.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CRAZY K: Shut up! Shut the fuck up!

DR. CUSHING: Why should they, Jerome? Are they saying things you don’t like to hear?

CRAZY K: So now you’re going to blame all this shit on me? You trying to make me crazy, motherfucker? I don’t owe any responsibilities to these motherfuckers!

DR. CUSHING: But you are responsible, Jerome, for the lives you’ve taken and for the dreams you’ve turned into nightmares.

CRAZY K: Nightmares? Motherfucker, what about my nightmares? What about the nightmare I’ve lived in? What about the nightmare I’ve lived in since I was born in this motherfucker? Who’s responsible for that?

DR. CUSHING: I don’t know, Jerome, you tell me! Who is responsible? Your mother? Your father? Your teachers? The world? Who?!

CRAZY K: Yeah, that’s right! All those motherfuckers created me! So now I’m the motherfucking nightmare!

DR. CUSHING: The nightmare ends when you say it does, Jerome! You’ve got to take responsibility to wake up! You’ve got to take responsibility to break this chain!

CRAZY K: I’ve only got one fucking responsibility in this world and that’s me! That’s it, motherfucker! So everybody and everything that ain’t me ain’t shit! Do you understand me?!

DR. CUSHING: That’s a question best posed to yourself. I’m giving you a chance! I’m giving you a shot at redemption! Do you understand that?!

CRAZY K: I don’t give a fuck about any of these stupid motherfuckers! So what you do is stop fucking with my mind, man, and let me out of this motherfucker!

DR. CUSHING: There’s nothing to stop you, Jerome.

(Crazy K breaks free and puts Nurse Roland in a sleeper hold.)

DR. CUSHING: Jerome!

CRAZY K: Shut the fuck up! Shut up! You let me out of this motherfucker or I swear to God I’ll snap this bitch’s neck!

DR. CUSHING: Jerome, it’s not too late to be saved! You won’t get another chance!

CRAZY K: I don’t need no motherfucking chance! You know why?! ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!

-Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert-

Die Purring

On a gray winter afternoon, nothing was more relaxing for Shayna Jorgenson than cozying up on the couch with her bare feet up on the ottoman and shopping for Christmas presents online with her laptop. This was much easier than going to a department store, especially since wearing pink fleece pajama pants and a white tank top was perfectly acceptable attire for internet shopping. No customers fighting among themselves for the best deals on shit they didn’t need, and no lengthy ass lines so that people would have to put up with each other for that much longer. The beauty of comfort brought a smile to Shayna’s face as she pulled the tie out of her soft chocolate hair.

Although, she had to admit that shopping for her boyfriend Edward Christian was a mystery wrapped in a riddle most of the time. They had been seeing each other for a whole year, yet Shayna didn’t have much of a grasp on what it was he truly liked. And then she saw his laptop sitting on the couch next to her and got a sneaky idea. She folded up her own laptop and logged onto his, which was easier than shopping for him since the computer wasn’t password protected. Perhaps she could get an idea of what he wanted for Christmas from poking around on his computer.

And then she had yet another naughty idea: sneaking around on his laptop to see his...pictures. Photography was one of Edward’s favorite hobbies and Shayna had to admit that he took some damn good pictures of her, maybe even professional grade (in case his gig at the library didn’t work out for him). And then she ventured into more dangerous territory: the porn collection.

Shayna rolled over onto her side as she surfed Edward’s porn collection with a kinky grin on her face. He definitely had some imaginative tastes. Wonder Woman in a lesbian make-out session with Princess Leia (in her golden bikini). Harley Quinn tying and gagging Lois Lane with duct tape. There was even a screenshot of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood in his black underwear being strapped to the spinning torture table, which made Shayna giggle and shake her head.

The next picture she saw erased the smile from her face and added tremor effects to her lips. She even held her stomach as she tried to keep her coffee down. There was nothing wrong with the fact that these women (and/or girls) were bare naked. It was what they were wearing on their crotches that made Shayna’s insides twist and pulsate with horror. She tried heavily breathing to calm herself down, but no matter what kind of whirlwind she sucked into her lungs, her blood continued to feel like a frigid tsunami running through her veins.

She peeked up momentarily to see her boyfriend standing in the living room with groceries in his hands and a confused expression on his face. Shayna never heard the door open, which was even creepier than what she saw on his computer. Edward asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me? What’s wrong, babe?”

Shayna closed the laptop and set it aside with shivers in her bare arms. “You know, Edward…I never had a problem with you keeping porn on your computer. But tell me…why did I just see a picture…of women wearing…diapers?!” That last word was punctuated with tears welling up in her eyes.

Edward dropped the bags of groceries at his sides and placed his hands on his hips. “Really?” he said. “You’re mad because I have a diaper fetish? So what? What’s the big deal?”

Shayna jumped up from the couch and shouted, “Children wear diapers! Old people wear diapers! You like that stuff?! You actually think that women in diapers are sexy?! What is wrong with you?!” Another wave of nausea hit her like a wrecking ball to the gut. “Oh my god…how old are those women? How old are they?!”

The blond haired, gray sweater vest wearing Edward approached his girlfriend with his arms spread out with the intention of hugging her. “Come on, baby, it’s not like that. You know me better than that.”

When he got a little too close for comfort, Shanya batted his arms away and shouted, “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! You’re sick! You’re a sick goddamn pervert! I mean, why would anybody think that diapers are sexy?! Is that what you want me to do for you?! Huh?! You want me to dress up in a child’s diaper and pretend that I’m a big fucking baby?! Maybe you should be a Catholic priest or some shit like that!”

Edward ran his hands through his fuzzy hair and looked down at his brown dress shoes and gray slacks. Shayna plopped back down on the couch and bawled her eyes out. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now, Edward,” she said. “This is sick. This is absolutely sick.”

The boyfriend’s expression changed from crippling guilt to trembling anger as he marched over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” by EL James. “You see this? Look at me, damn it!” Edward shouted. “Anybody who reads crap like this has no right to judge other people for having weird fetishes! I have no illusions about diaper sex being normal. But at least I would never make you sign your life away in a fucking contract, which the main character in this disgusting book does to his girlfriend! You’re a hypocrite, Shayna! I’d rather be a crazy diaper fetishist that a flip-flopping bitch like you!”

Shayna shot right back up again and shouted, “There are no diapers in Fifty Shades of Grey! The main character specifically says that nothing he and his girlfriend will do involves children! And as I just told you, in case you didn’t fucking know, children wear diapers! I’m not going to satisfy your little NAMBLA fetish just for the sake of keeping our sex life fresh! If you want to have diaper sex so badly, run a daycare center!”

The girlfriend shuffled around looking for her shoes and socks while Edward shouted, “Yeah, that’s right! Judge me! Label me! It’s not like people don’t do that enough already! You think you’re the first one to give me shit because of my tastes?! Yes, I’m weird! I know that! And you know what?! I’m proud of that shit! Being normal is boring as hell! And if you want me to conform for you, you’re just as boring as any other faceless bastard walking the streets!”

Once Shayna got her shoes and socks on, she began to stomp her way out the front door. Before she could, Edward had one last cannonball to fire. “That’s right, walk away! Throw away an entire year of romance just because of one weird ass fetish! I’m not the freak around here! You are, bitch!”

Shayna glared at her boyfriend one more time and flipped him off before slamming the door behind her and walking away. Edward was proud of standing his ground, but even he couldn’t resist the urge to plop down on the ottoman and stroke his hair while tears were forming in his eyes. He had been in several arguments with Shayna before, but none of them have ended without resolution. All of those pedophile remarks could very well mean the end of their relationship. They were serious accusations, possibly serious enough to involve the police if things get heated.

That night, Edward Christian laid in bed with the blankets barely covering his blue shorts-wearing body. He hugged his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Shayna would ever come home to him. It was a stupid thing to fight over and a shitty way for one year of love to end. Christmas was coming up soon and if word got out that he had a diaper fetish, he would have nobody to celebrate this special holiday with. The more he thought about this, the longer he stayed up. He had stayed awake for two hours without getting one wink of sleep. When the sandman eventually came for him, he was going to sleep alone. Having that much bed space didn’t feel any more comfortable than sleeping on a park bench in the frigid weather.

“Hey, baby,” said a familiar voice in the doorway. It was the lovely Shayna Jorgenson, still dressed in PJ pants and a tank top. She also wore a look of sadness on her face, like she had spent most of the day crying as she cleared her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry about everything. At the end of the day, we all have our weird tastes, even me. You’re right. It would be a boring world if everyone was normal. But I also know that you would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I know you don’t either.”

Edward spread his hand across the other side of the bed, signaling for his girlfriend to come lay beside him and end this silly feud once and for all. Shayna took off her tank top and revealed a white bra underneath. She breathed a deep sigh and looked down at her toes for a moment before pulling her pajama pants down and revealing a thick white diaper underneath.

Edward didn’t know whether to feel turned on and passionate or confused as hell. Shayna said, “I’m willing to try this just one time. If I don’t like it, then we won’t do it again. I feel absolutely ridiculous wearing this thing…but at the same time,” she smiled her sweet smile yet again and said, “It feels pretty soft against me.”

The boyfriend had a sexy grin on his own face as well. “I never actually had diaper sex before. I hope it’ll be as fun for you as it is for me. If it isn’t…I won’t make you sign a contract or any shit like that.”

Shayna giggled as she turned out the light and swayed her diapered hips back and forth on her way to beddy-bye with her handsome stud. One night was all they needed. One night of the strangest sex they’d ever had.

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”-

Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert

MOVIE TITLE: Tales From the Hood
SUB-STORY: Hardcore Convert
DIRECTOR: Rusty Cundieff
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Gangster Horror
RATING: R for violence, vulgar language, and male nudity
GRADE: Pass


In the final story from the Tales From the Hood anthology, Jerome Johns aka Crazy K is a psychopathic gangster who goes on a rampage and eventually gets captured by the police. After serving four years of his life sentence, Crazy K meets Dr. Cushing, a scientist who gives him the chance of being released back on the streets on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”.

Crazy K thinks this is an easy way out of jail, but the physical and psychological torture he is subjected to suggests otherwise. He’s forced to have a conversation with a racist serial killer, be strapped to a spinning table while watching violent footage, and be lowered into a sensory deprivation chamber to confront the ghosts of those he murdered. Is Crazy K capable of being a respectable human being or is he just a lost cause who “Doesn’t give a fuck”?

The idea of brainwashing a violent person into becoming a pacifist has been explored before, particularly in the Anthony Burgess novel which later became a movie “A Clockwork Orange”. The conditioning techniques used in both “A Clockwork Orange” and “Hardcore Convert” are similar in the sense that the subject will become violently ill after watching or attempting brutality. The difference between the two is that the conditioning in “A Clockwork Orange” actually does its job in making the main character into a “model citizen” while Crazy K continues to defy authority.

Experimental treatments are judged on a trial and error basis, so Crazy K’s rebellious ways are believable. In fact, his multiple F-bombs and aggressive tone make him a quotable character. Just don’t quote him in a public place where children are present. Also, when somebody asks you if you’re interested in science, don’t say, “I saw a few chemicals in my day.” That doesn’t sound promising. It’s funny as hell, but not promising.

Here’s the million dollar question that I’ve always had when watching this part of Tales From the Hood. During the spinning table scene, were the sexual overtones intentional or were they accidental? I’ve wrestled with this question plenty of times in my analysis of this movie. Crazy K is wearing nothing but a black g-string (which leaves very little to the imagination), he’s being tied to a table, he has a metal ball gag in his mouth and feeding tubes in his nostrils, he has electric pasties on his nipples, he has a spring-loaded clamp on his groin, and the women who are doing all of this to him are smoking hot. Even in her 50’s, Rosalind Cash (Dr. Cushing) was a gorgeous woman, so that furthers my last point.

To answer the question of whether the sexual overtones were intentional, I’m still on the fence on that one. Yes, the spinning table scene has all of those kinky elements going on, but it also has some rather disturbing ones. The slide show that Crazy K is being shown basically compares KKK lynchings to gangs shootings. These are all brutal photos, but the bold point is being made that black gangsters are no different from white supremacists in the sense that they both randomly kill other black people. And let’s not forget, these points are being made while Crazy K is being spun around on a torture table and becoming nauseated afterwards. If there was an attempt at fan service, it fell apart the minute the table started spinning.

You can look at this final Tales From the Hood story from any angle you want. You can jokingly call it “Fifty Shades of K” or “Clockwork Orgasm” all you want, but let’s not forget that there’s a serious tale of gang violence being told in this story. The fact that Crazy K can remain defiant after everything is done says something about our society: some people just can’t be cured. You can help them all you want, but in the end, it’s up to that individual to make a conscientious decision to change his or her life. Crazy K wanted an easy way to freedom and he got schooled instead. The easiest path to your goals isn’t always the best one. Cheaters never win and winners never cheat. That’s why Crazy K is in a coffin at Simms’ Funeral Home and not at home rebuilding his life. A passing grade for a tale of tragedy.

Tina Bryan

Correct me if I’m wrong, but with the addition of Tina, this marks the third character I’ve blogged about with the last name Bryan, the first two being Mario (schizophrenic college student) and Wade (D&D fighter). I swear I’m not doing that on purpose. In other words, Tina, Mario, and Wade are not related in any way. They’re not even from the same genre. But if you fan fiction junkies want to make something out of this, then I won’t try to stop you. In fact, I’ll applaud your creative minds with a standing ovation.

When I was writing a story called Hardcore Hell (formerly known as Hardcore Hate), Tina was nothing like Wade or Mario. In fact, she was what TV Tropes would refer to as Mrs. Fan Service. She was created to cater to the male crowd in a lot of ways. She was a sexy blond, she wore tight clothing, she was the lead guitarist of an all-girl metal band, and she was bisexual. The first moment in Hardcore Hell that should have made putters stand up was when Tina was flirting with the ultra-conservative paladin Gayle Rinehart and even kissed her on the lips. Despite her religious beliefs, Gayle put up very little resistance against the lesbian kiss. That’s fan service right there. And we all know by now I will do anything for my most loyal fans.

Tina Bryan was more than a sex object, though. Were you so blinded by her sexiness that you forgot she knew how to play the electric guitar? She was so talented she drew comparisons to Dimebag Darrell from Pantera and Max Cavalera from Soulfly. That kind of heavy metal talent doesn’t go unrecognized for long. She eventually joined an all-girl metal band called The Angry Amazons. The group’s gimmick was that they spread a politically liberal and radically feminist message in a mostly religious town called Leakee. They played one of their heaviest shows to a crowd of thousands and afterwards they were ambushed by Paladine’s Watchdogs before being crucified for the whole town to see. The members of the Angry Amazons died a slow and painful death.

The scene between Gayle and the Angry Amazons took place in heaven, where the deity of Gayle’s religion, Paladine, told her she was wrong in using her zeal to punish and persecute liberals. The lead singer of the Angry Amazons, Lara Spider, was even harsher than the loving god Gayle “worshipped” so much. Lara flat out told her she was disgusting and deserved to burn in hell for her sins. Tina took an entirely different approach to confronting a zealous member of Paladine’s order. The lesbian kiss and the flirting wasn’t just for fan service. It was a form of diplomacy. It was Tina’s way of letting Gayle know she was forgiven now that she learned her lessons. It was a smoking hot way of doing it, but it was convincing nonetheless.

The question becomes, now that Hardcore Hell has been exorcised from my library due to its irreparably bad writing, what do I do with the Angry Amazons? Will they get back together for another gig? But since this blog entry deals with one member specifically, what’s going to happen to Tina Bryan? Should she be discarded due to her being a “stereotype”? Should she be dismissed due to her being Mrs. Fan Service? To those of you who answered yes, I want to let you in on a little secret: fan service isn’t offensive. That’s why they call it fan service: because it’s service. Isn’t that right, Princess Leia? How about you, Crazy K? What’s the latest from Susanna from The Way Way Back? Not a goddamn thing, because Princess Leia, Crazy K, and Susanna don’t give a shit, that’s why. Tina Bryan shouldn’t give a shit either. She’s a badass heavy metal goddess and if she sees the light of day again, it’s going to happen despite criticism.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ll throw the first punch, ‘cause I’ve kept my mouth shut for far too long. Enough’s enough. And you say I’m wrong, but it feels right. And it’s about damn time. It’s been too long. Enough’s enough. Right between the eyes!”

-Nothing More singing “First Punch”-

"My Bloody Roots" by Max Cavalera

Max Cavalera is without a doubt one of the hardest working metal musicians in the industry. He’s fronting three bands (Soulfly, Cavalera Conspiracy, and Killer Be Killed) and he was the founding member of one of the most successful metal bands today: Sepultura. He’s not going to flaunt his greatness in public because he’s a humble and friendly guy, so I’m going to do it for him in what little space I have in this blog entry about his memoir, “My Bloody Roots”.

The reason he can keep a frenetic pace in his work life is he has an unrivaled passion for heavy metal music since it basically saved his life. His father died while Max was only nine years old. Without him, the Cavalera clan lived in poverty in autocratic Brazil. He knew he could never make it as an ice cream salesman or a schoolchild because he was too pissed off about his father being gone. So what did he do? With what little money he had, he bought heavy metal albums and let them inspire him to become the hardcore rock and roller he his today.

All of this energy in his music didn’t come without a price. Aside from his father dying, he also had to deal with the death of his stepson Dana Wells, whose murder remains unsolved to this day. Max’s wife and Dana’s mother Gloria spent the longest time in despondency and all Max wanted to do was to be there for her while the guys of his band at the time, Sepultura, wanted to go on tour right away. One thing led to another and Max eventually left the band along with his wife, who was their manager.

Max was an emotional wreck to say the least, so much so that it affected his ability to continue his music career. So what did he do? The same thing any passionate metal head would have done: he formed Soulfly and became an instant success. The first Soulfly album was released in 1998 and they’ve been in business ever since. Add to that workload Cavalera Conspiracy and Killer Be Killed and you’ve got the recipe for true heavy metal badassery.

I won’t go into too much detail about Max Cavalera’s life (I fear I may have done that already). All I’ll say is that he came back from so many hardships and he did it all through the power of heavy metal music. It’s aggressive, fast-paced, and hardcore music straight from the soul. Without it, not only would Max not have found an escape, but those who listened wouldn’t have either. He doesn’t just rock out for the hell of it; he touches lives.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Jerome, it’s not too late to be saved! You won’t get another chance!

CRAZY K: I don’t need another motherfucking chance! You want to know why?! ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!!

"Holes" by Louis Sachar

A lot of people don’t know if they’re unlucky or not, so I came up with a little test to try and help them out. Things like, if you’ve ever been sent to a boy’s detention center called Camp Green Lake for something that wasn’t your fault, you might be unlucky. If your overseers are complete douche bags who would rather watch you die of dehydration than give you an adequate amount of water, you might be unlucky. If your workload at Camp Green Lake consists of digging a five foot hole in all directions during the hottest part of the day, you might be unlucky.

Or you could just be a kid named Stanley Yelnats, who personifies unluckiness to the nth degree. A pair of stolen celebrity shoes literally fell from the sky and landed in his hands. An officer stopped and arrested him before he was eventually sent to Camp Green Lake to do tedious and body-shredding work. If that’s not an odd coincidence, I don’t know what is.

Or it could be that his great grandfather was cursed by a witch for not keeping a promise. It seems petty to blame an entire misunderstanding like Stanley’s story on a witch’s curse. However, the more Stanley digs these holes and finds interesting artifacts, the more he realizes that his family history plays a huge role in this story. Suddenly, this tale of bad luck turns into a conspiracy theory that almost kills Stanley multiple times.

That’s a lot for a small child to take in as he reads “Holes”. Then again, “Holes” is the kind of story that both children and adults can enjoy despite the former being the target audience. It is read in grade school, after all. It just wasn’t read in my grade school, because “Holes” came out in 1998 and I was already a teenager.

I found out about this gem after Disney took it upon themselves to make a movie out of it. I never watched the movie, I just saw portions of it. I didn’t even realize Camp Green Lake was a detention center until I heard about Stanley Yelnats having a lawyer. So when I saw this novel in a bookstore in Asheville, North Carolina, I knew I had to have it.

Yes, most of the book consisted of harsh treatment toward the unfortunate, but since it was geared toward children, it had things that distinguished it from “bully porn” as I like to call it. It has a fast pace, dark humor, and an overall creative story that left no stone unturned in terms of interweaving plot devices.

You don’t have to feel like a toddler for reading this wonderful book. On the contrary, you might actually learn something from this despite having qualified for retirement benefits from social security. Chew on that for a minute.

　

***PARODY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: What’s wrong, Crazy K? You don’t like being strapped to a spinning torture table? Well, you should have thought about that before you agreed to behavioral modification.

CRAZY K: Mmmmmmmmmmm!!!

-Tales From the Hood-

Darkness and Crudeness

There’s a fine line between being dark and being crude. As someone who’s tried to experiment with the dark style all my life, I’ve crossed the blurred line several times in my career. No matter how many times I try to avoid it, somehow I keep crossing that border whenever I’m pumping out first drafts. And then I end up feeling horrible about it since there’s a slim chance I may have unintentionally offended someone. Offending people is good, but not when it’s unintentional. Here’s an example. There’s a short story in Foe vs. Blade called Choice, where an MMA fighter named Rachel Gustafson has an abortion so that she can continue to compete. When she finally has her next fight, her pro-life opponent Violet Smith compares her to Phil Garrido since abortion is allegedly the same as child abuse. Before publishing Foe vs. Blade, I removed that crude and unnecessary comment and replaced it with both fighters instead electing to go back to their corners. The DeviantART and Facebook versions of Choice still have the Phil Garrido remark, but that’s only because nobody pays attention to first drafts anyways. You can apply the darkness-crudeness continuum to your own work as well. For example, let’s say you’re going to make a joke about Cleopatra’s menstrual cycle. A calm and sensible person who still wished to be dark and offensive would phrase the joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra use tampons? A: Because she was on her pyramid.” A crude and tacky person would phrase the seemingly innocent joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra shove tube steaks up her fucking twat? A: Because the bitch was on her pyramid, yo!” The lesson learned here is that swearing is not always a good way to enhance your material. If all you have is swearing and no substance, you’re not going to survive the creative world. That’s why whenever I’m walking the streets of downtown Bremerton and I hear a random guy rapping about a woman “sucking a dick in less than a minute”, I cringe and try to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. The only purpose swearing and other forms of darkness serve is to make the story realistic. There are people out there who use crude language, but when writing, try to capture it in such a way that it doesn’t completely make your audience’s stomachs turn. A good example of darkness used to perfection would be Tales From the Hood. Yes, the characters love to cuss, but whenever Bulldog yells, “Where’s the shit?!” your stomach is sore not from nausea, but from laughing. Leave the nausea up to Crazy K as he gets spun around several times on a torture table while watching black people getting killed, which is apparently what he’s been doing all of his life according to Dr. Cushing. Peace! I’m out!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“One of the side effects for these diet pills is anal seepage. If you take this pill, I don’t care how much weight you’ve lost, you ain’t looking good in them jeans.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-

Book Burnings

There are some zealous people out there who love a good book burning ceremony. Terry Jones, that idiot priest in Florida, was going to burn several copies of the Quran on the anniversary of 9/11. I don’t know if he actually got around to it, but there’s something Mr. Jones needs to be aware of for the next time he plans a book burning ritual. In order to obtain copies of a book, you have to, surprise, surprise, buy them. Every time you buy a book from somewhere, whether it’s $20 at Barnes and Noble or one cent plus shipping and handling on Amazon.com, you’re giving your patronage and your money to the original author along with their publishing company. I hate to burst your bubble, Mr. Jones, but in the end, it doesn’t matter why you buy multiple copies of a book, because a sale is a sale regardless of the reason. You can say whatever you want about the Twilight series, but if you’re buying a hundred copies just so you can rip them up or use them as toilet paper, you’re still giving Stephanie Meyer a shit load of money. And if you think you’re being slick by going on an author’s page and giving him a negative review, sorry, but that’s another way of attracting attention to that author. More attention (good or bad) means more sales, more sales means more money for the author, and more money for the author means that he won’t have to go on welfare and REALLY make you shit your pants. Going back to the original example of that loser Terry Jones, he may have pissed off a bunch of extremists by attempting a Quran burning, but thanks to his ass-load of cash, some publishers are going to be eating a chicken dinner for a long, long time. Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey! Rise and shine, it’s breakfast time! And of course, this blog wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t use myself as an example to further my point. This past Friday, I visited Lulu.com and put together yet another self-published book under the name Garrison Kelly called Foe vs. Blade. It’s another anthology just like Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart, but Foe vs. Blade is much darker and much more offensive. I may be hypersensitive to criticism, but business will go on as usual whether you’re with me or against me. But in hindsight, I’ve only sold one copy of either of these two books in the past few weeks and that was to my best friend Kenny on Facebook. Either way, that one sale is going to multiply into many sales and I will become well-fed and well-paid whether you want to set fire to my books or recommend them to friends. You’ve got a lighter? Flame on!

　

***PARODY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Our tests show that you have a weak stomach. Have you ever been strapped to a torture table and spun around several hundred times until you puked your guts out?

CRAZY K: Yeah, I saw a few rollercoasters in my day.

-Tales From the Hood-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

Anybody who says Tales From the Hood’s fourth story is like A Clockwork Orange is secretly looking for a way to make everybody look away from his massive hard-on. Did Alex De Large walk around in his underwear? Did Alex De Large have stimulators on his nipples? Did Alex De Large have a spring-loaded clamp on the base of his dick? And finally, did Alex De Large have a ball gag in his mouth? The answer to all of these questions is not just no, but a definitive hell no. If you’re going to masturbate to that torture scene in Tales From the Hood, at least be honest about it.