Caleb Rosales, Carpenter and Concerned Neighbor from "Virtuous"

 

Crossfade vs. The Amazing Yen from Ocean's Eleven

 

All joking aside, it's great to see Crossfade back on the road again. I missed them.

Ray Stuckey from Mississippi Burning vs. Kash Patel, Kristi Noem, and Eric Adams

 

I used to think I was just having fun with acronyms here, but this has taken on a bigger meaning. White conservatives don't respect minorities within their own party. Sheriff Stuckey is a closeted member of the KKK, so he's not going to give two shits and a flying fuck about an Indian FBI agent, a female DHS agent, or a black NYPD cop. Bootlicking gets you nowhere in life.

Detective Jeri Lodge, Bull Rope Police Department

 

Her job is to arrest incel gangsters, but when she interrogates them and breaks them down, she takes no prisoners and even less bullshit excuses.

Pull a Knife

VERSE 1

Respect for authority, agree with the majority

Keep the peace, you should only be seen

And never heard, not a single word

Will come from your lips or they’ll rap the tips

Of your fingers with a ruler, you little grammar-schooler

Some rap the knuckles, either way your knees buckle

Stand up to injustice? Do that, you’ll get busted

Assume the position, it’s your life’s ambition

 

DIALOGUE

That all sounds well and good, but I’d rather…

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallet!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

 

VERSE 2

Words have failed, now your life has derailed

Now it’s punches and kicks, stones and sticks

Violence is the language of pain and anguish

Because the rules don’t apply to the suits and ties

The rules mean nothing when the shotgun’s pumping

Shells in the heads of the poor and underfed

It’s kill or be killed, I’ll die on this hill

It’s either you or them, who’d be better off dead?

 

DIALOGUE

I’d love to sing kumbaya with my killers, but I’d rather…

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallets!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

 

BRIDGE

Are they scared of the city? They made things shitty

Flooding the streets with guns and heat

Flooding the veins with heroin, cocaine

Cutting the funding, now the cops go hunting

Expect obedience? That shit’s so devious

Has the opposite effect of what it all meant

What’s the use? You got nothing left to lose

Nothing’s more dangerous than a bullet up their anus!

 

CHORUS

Pull a knife! Take their wallet!

Accountability is what I’ll call it!

Pull a gun! Steal their purse!

I don’t care if it makes things worse!

Do it like Robin Hood! Do it like Luigi!

Scrape their remains off the sidewalk with a squeegee!

They created a monster! Created a killer!

They debate all they want, but it’s background filler!

Pull a knife!

Pull a gun!

Pull a bazooka!

It’s the end of the world, let’s have some fun!

Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For

BOOK TITLE: Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For

AUTHOR: Frank Miller

YEAR: 1993

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Neo-Noir

GRADE: A

 

We’ve seen the femme fatale trope play out across multiple stories, most notably in neo-Noir. When Frank Miller takes hold of the reigns for Sin City 2, it doesn’t feel stale. Ava, the femme fatale in question, comes off like a powerful character who could manipulate her way into any authoritative position. Every man she comes in contact with is wrapped around her finger, not just because of her physical appearance, but also her psychological prowess. Even if you think the femme fatale trope is problematic or overdone, there’s still something to be said for how manipulative humans can be, if not sexually, then in another way that plays into their targets’ sympathies. Femme fatales may be a male gaze character archetype, but narcissists and gaslighters are very real in our world and that’s how Ava comes off in this book. The protagonist of this story, a down-on-his-luck P.I. named Dwight McCarthy, has a history with her and knows her ins and outs. He’s still susceptible to her whims every now and then. That’s what he wrestles with throughout the story and that alone is a struggle worth reading about.

 

If you’re familiar with the gritty underworld of neo-Noir storytelling, then you’ll find everything you’re looking for in this graphic novel. I’ve already mentioned the femme fatale elements, but there’s also smooth-flowing dialogue, morally gray criminals, and fight scenes that raise the stakes through the ceiling. At first, I thought Dwight was just shrugging off his pain after getting beaten so many times in the first half of the story. Even after crashing through a window and falling onto the pavement, he walks away like it’s nothing. He had me for a minute there. But how long could he keep up his macho posturing? How long could he just suck it up and carry on before all this violence nearly does him in? You’ll get your answer in due time after reading enough of this book. I was worried that this was going to be like a WWE storyline where Triple H gets trapped in a car and dropped fifteen feet, only to come out on TV the next night with only “contusions”. Nope! It’s much worse for Dwight. There are a few times where you as a reader will doubt if he’ll be alive by the end of the story. I’m not spoiling a thing for you. If this sounds intriguing, then buy the book and read it yourself.

 

Because this is a graphic novel, all I needed was an hour and twenty minutes to read it from cover to cover. But even with this breakneck speed, it didn’t feel like I was missing out on important details or emotional moments. It was fast, but not excessively fast. It was just right for the kind of story that needed to be told. Dwight tangles with his own emotions and that plays brilliantly into the action sequences that follow his thought processes. When he takes a beating, you feel his beating. When his pain comes from within, you want to sympathize with him even though he has his rotten moments too. I questioned whether I should continue rooting for him after he shoved Ava to the ground during one of their rendezvouses. I urge you to keep reading and not give up on him so easily. With a quick reading speed, you’ll get your answers in the time you want them. Your guilt as a reader can only last so long before you see the truth about Ava.

 

Frank Miller has an edge to him and that shows in pretty much everything he writes. This brand of edginess won’t drive away his audience. In fact, it’ll be a selling point. It’s the neo-Noir grittiness that will keep you coming back for more. It can’t be a hardboiled story without a little edge every now and then. Regardless of how you feel about Frank Miller as a person, there’s no denying that he penned one heck of a story in Sin City 2. Do I want to read the first installment just out of morbid curiosity? Sure, why not? This book gets five stars out of five. No glaring flaws that I can find aside from Dwight refusing to acknowledge his extreme pain.

Red Zone

VERSE 1

I’ve got a potion in a vial, but it’s not magic

It’s to keep my blindness from ending up tragic

Tear gas, mace, batons, and glass shields

“To serve and protect”, yeah, we get the spiel

What are you protecting: corporate feelings?

Did we ruin your country club shady-ass dealings?

What are you serving: a glass of chardonnay?

Is this why you shove the crowd out of the way?

PRE-CHORUS

Crimes committed, cops acquitted

Beaten protesters, happy investors

Of all the shit you arrest us for

Put one more crime in your report

CHORUS

I think I’m parked in the red zone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

Cuff my wrists right down the bone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

VERSE 2

It’s not about consistency, but owning the libs

Easy rhetoric flows like shit from your lips

You’re living the dream as you gang up like a team

On an unarmed dude as you beat him into cream

PRE-CHORUS

Crimes committed, cops acquitted

Beaten protesters, happy investors

Of all the shit you arrest us for

Put one more crime in your report

CHORUS

I think I’m parked in the red zone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

Cuff my wrists right down the bone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

BRIDGE

This is your idea of utopia

Your kids’ idea of Nickelodeon

Your voters’ idea of unbiased news

They’ve got one more issue to choose

EXTENDED CHORUS

I think I’m parked in the red zone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

Cuff my wrists right down the bone

I think I’m parked in the red zone

I’m blocking my own ambulance

As you erase your own evidence

Of slamming me on the pavement stones

For being parked in the red zone

Parked in the red zone!

Addiopizzo

VERSE 1

You sold us a world where we could be ourselves

You occupied several rows on the library shelves

But then April Fools became your golden rule

The marginalized became part of your death pool

You didn’t sell books, but you collected pizzo

Protection? You’re the only one who eats though

Built a castle out of corpses, sat on a throne of bones

But what do we know? We’re always on our phones

CHORUS

We’ll never pay your prices

You can feed your own vices

Addiopizzo!

Addiopizzo!

VERSE 2

You sold us combat between two superstars

Roads to your arenas jam packed with cars

Then the comedy writers turned the show to shit

But your bank account is still a number one hit

Making more money now than any other point

Smoke cigars made of pizzo, stink up the joint

Built an empire out of muscles and steroids

But what do we know? We’re not one of the boys

CHORUS

We’ll never pay your prices

You can feed your own vices

Addiopizzo!

Addiopizzo!

BRIDGE

You’re wearing a suit made out of pizzo

Crisp dollar bills from the tip jar, keep those

You’re wearing shoes made from human flesh

The worst of it all? The wounds are still fresh

CHORUS

We’ll never pay your prices

You can feed your own vices

Addiopizzo!

Addiopizzo!

VERSE 3

You sold us a product from an MLM boss babe

Got an army of recruits with empty promises made

But then they knock on your door asking for a check

There are more instructions in their DM texts

Keep buying the stash and supplying the pizzo

Ugly leggings, ripped boots, hole-covered speedos

It’s a cycle that continues for the rest of time

Nobody cares that collecting pizzo is a crime

Addiopizzo!

Addiopizzo!

Demolition Man

MOVIE TITLE: Demolition Man

DIRECTOR: Marco Brambilla

YEAR: 1993

GENRE: Dystopian Sci-Fi

RATING: R for violence and language

GRADE: B

Imagine a future where everybody is smiling and nothing could go wrong. No foul language, no unhealthy foods, no sex, no music other than TV jingles, no contact sports, no drug use…wow…That’s a lot of no’s for a utopian society. John Spartan, Simon Phoenix, and Edgar Friendly don’t fit into this new future’s plans. So what do they do about it? Edgar Friendly leads an underground rebellion, Simon Phoenix causes violence wherever he goes, and John Spartan does pretty much the same as those two, but under the guise of police work. So much for Dr. Cocteau’s perfect society. Taking the fun completely out of life isn’t utopian at all. It’s dystopian. Already this movie is sounding like the libertarian’s bible, right? But let’s not forget that most left-wingers don’t have a problem with so-called “degenerate” behavior either. We like sex. We like marijuana. We like good food. We like heavy metal music and hip-hop. Everybody has their own interpretation of what Demolition Man means to them. I’ll speak for myself and say that this is generally a fun movie that takes place in a boring society. That’s it. That’s all it needs to be. We don’t need to have bloodbaths across the aisle over this fine piece of cinema. Let’s just sit down and watch it with a bucket of popcorn on our laps. And by the way, that popcorn is going to swim in butter and salt until it’s unrecognizable. Be well indeed.

But of all the major food groups this movie represents, none are more heavily pushed upon the audience than cheese. Good old fashioned cheesy goodness. Enough cheese to open a few Pizza Huts in this world of Taco Bells. I’m of course being metaphorical when I talk about how much cheese this movie has. You can hear it in the dialogue, whether it’s ordinary citizens, police officers, Cocteau’s obese assistant, or the socialites hanging out at Taco Bell. First and last names are used so bloody often. The elite vocabulary sounds awkward and clumsy and it’s enough to make the audience cringe. The TV jingles that are on the radio could drive someone insane if they hear it long enough, let alone in the short screen time they’re given. I get that this cheesy dialogue is supposed to be representative of a new future with a new brainwashed culture. Foul language is banned, so that’s a huge part of it. But after a while, it can grate on the audience’s ears. It’s so noticeable that it keeps the movie from being pitch perfect. But hey, when you’re watching a movie with Sylvester Stallone in the starring role, you can expect a little cheese every few seconds.

Which feels weird to say, because Sylvester Stallone plays John Spartan perfectly. He’s gritty, profane, ultra-violent, and loves to have fun even at the expense of a perfect and pretty future. Instead of using the three seashells once he’s done in the bathroom, he wipes his butt with the tickets he accumulates for swearing so much. He eats a rat burger when it’s the only meat available (and he loves it). He constantly has to correct Lelina Huxley after she butchers a 20th century idiom. You know who else likes to have fun at the expense of the future? Simon Phoenix, who’s played by Wesley Snipes. He can make even the most mundane insult sound intense with his delivery. He comes off like a psychopath loony toon not just in his constant laughter, but also in his movements, be it martial arts or otherwise. Couple these things with a terrorist mindset and you’ve got the most dangerous criminal in the movie. And then there’s Edgar Friendly, played by politically incorrect rapid-fire comedian Denis Leary. When he says he wants to eat salty, fatty, and buttery foods while smoking a cigar in the non-smoking section, you’ll believe he’s like that in real life. Denis Leary could start a revolution right now if he wanted to; that’s how convincing he was as Edgar Friendly. The only other character with halfway decent dialogue was Bob Gunton’s character, Captain Earle, who can be strict and aggressive without breaking the 21st century’s new laws. If he wasn’t a brainwashed pacifist, he could take on Simon Phoenix himself.

Yes, this movie was made in 1993, but it has aged like fine wine. Demolition Man sounds like it predicted the future in a lot of ways, but make no mistake, it was a satire turned up to eleven of things going on at the time. Whether you see it as a “libertarian manifesto” or not, the very least you can do is have fun while watching this movie. It’s action-packed, it’s witty, it’s dramatic, and an all-around good movie if you’re not too bothered by the cheesiness of the futuristic characters. You don’t even have to be drunk or stoned to watch this movie; it can be enjoyed at face value. But if you want to be drunk or stoned in the privacy of your own living room, I’m not going to try and stop you. I don’t want to turn your home into a Dr. Cocteau dystopia. Give this movie any grade you want and have no regrets. Me? I’ll give it a solid B.

"Basil of Baker Street" by Eve Titus

BOOK TITLE: Basil of Baker Street
AUTHOR: Eve Titus
YEAR: 1958
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Children’s Mystery
GRADE: Fail

Listen…I know this is a children’s book and that certain liberties can be taken when it comes to judging the audience’s wisdom. Eve Titus didn’t have to be the second coming of David Baldacci, C.J. Box, or Brett Battles. But this kind of leniency is no excuse for insulting the intelligence of the readers. Yes, I know: Basil is a detective mouse and he’s modeled after Sherlock Holmes. To his credit, he’s got some serious deduction skills. Dawson, his assistant, could definitely learn a lot from him. While Basil does pick up on subtle clues that blend too easily in the background, there are some pieces of this mystery that aren’t so subtle, hence the insult to the readers’ intelligence and wisdom.

For example, let’s first look at the name of the kidnappers in question: The Terrible Three. Right off the bat, you know they’re the main villains of the story. And that’s really all the depth they’re given as characters. I understand that this is a short book and character development can’t always be achieved with so few pages. But please…at least TRY to make an effort at subterfuge. When we finally meet The Terrible Three, their villainy is never in doubt because of how angry and vulgar they act around other mice. If it wasn’t for the fact that their twin girl victims were missing, they could be arrested right away and there wouldn’t be a need for a story. There might not even be a kidnapping, the villains are so obvious.

And if the villains are going to send a messenger to do their dirty work, they might want to consider somebody who isn’t a nervous wreck all the time. Shuffling feet, shifting eyes, short answers, these are the telltale signs that they extorted Hawkins the sailor into delivering the ransom note. No subtlety there. In fact, I dare say that it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to figure that out, much less a mouse that learns everything he knows from him.

Oh, I almost forgot about Basil. Never forget that he’s the world’s greatest mouse detective. If you need a reminder, the opening sentences of the book will tell you. Not show you. Tell you. That alone should be suspicious to a wise reader. You know what else would be? Basil being a complete Gary-Stu. He’s perfect in every way, not counting his horrendous violin playing. He only shows vulnerability once in this novella and that’s when he provokes The Terrible Three and a pack of minions into brawling with him and Dawson. Anybody want to guess how that fight turns out? Let’s see: two scrawny detectives versus a bunch of muscle-bound bruisers. Maybe Basil isn’t the brightest bulb in the drawer after all. But it was all part of a plan. Good for him. I’d hate to see what would happen if he botched that plan or if the Terrible Three and their minions were a little TOO aggressive in the brawl.

I guess I shouldn’t have had high hopes for this novella to begin with. Yes, it became a Disney movie. Yes, it has cute animals as characters instead of humans. But the writing is just plain insulting. I’m not even worried about the “wild Indian” and “good housewife” stereotypes, because those are nothing compared to a badly-written story. I can’t give this book anything more than two stars out of five. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t. Sorry!

"Cold Wind" by C.J. Box

BOOK TITLE: Cold Wind
AUTHOR: C.J. Box
YEAR: 2011
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Mystery/Thriller
GRADE: Pass

Will Joe Pickett find out who murdered wind farm scammer Earl Alden? Will Nate Romanowski exact revenge on the people responsible for his girlfriend’s death? These questions and many more will haunt you during your entire reading adventure through Cold Wind. Just when you think you can breathe a sigh of relief, there’s another twist or obstacle that comes around the corner to mess things up. Even as the book winds down to a close, there’s no room to breathe comfortably. Earl’s murder isn’t an open and shut case; there’s a conspiracy at work involving pyramid schemes and Joe’s own disliked mother-in-law Missy, who is the first accused. And Nate? He can’t depend on the law to help him since he’s an outlaw himself. When you want a revenge murder done right, you’ve got to do it yourself with the help of gigantic pistols and stealthy know-how. All in all, this is a well-crafted mystery that will keep you guessing until the end. You want to cheer for Joe and Nate to find justice. You also want their stories to intertwine since they were former friends. You may have to wait patiently and put together the pieces like everyone else, but your eagerness to crack the case won’t allow you to step away from this book. That’s the mark of a good mystery: always keeping the readers hungry for more.

Behind all of the good writing and carefully-constructed mysteries, the author has an obvious rightwing agenda. This book was published in 2011, when conservatives were paranoid about where their tax money was going. Speaking from my own liberal point of view, I appreciate the fact that C.J. Box’s politics don’t come off as ham-fisted. They’re tolerable so as long as they play a vital role in how the mystery unfolds, which they do. One thing that rubbed me the wrong way, though, was the whining and complaining about diversity in a mostly-white state like Wyoming, which is where the book takes place. People say it’s about preserving realism, I say it’s about celebrating bigotry. But that’s just my opinion. Obviously, the politics of this book didn’t bother me enough to put it down permanently. I read the whole thing from cover to cover and it’s still an effective murder mystery no matter what biases the reader has. I can still get behind characters like Joe Pickett, Nate Romanowski, Marybeth Picket, Alicia Whiteplume, and yes, even Marcus Hand despite this defense lawyer’s sometimes piggish behavior.

You know who I can’t get behind, though? Joe’s adopted daughter April, who comes off as whiny, spoiled, and bratty in all of her appearances in this book. So her parents took away her electronics. Big deal! With all of the venom pouring from this kid’s mouth, I’m surprised they didn’t give up on her right away. At least with Sheridan, you’ve got a college kid who’s worried about navigating life on her own. With Lucy, you’ve got a high school kid who wants her parents to acknowledge the fact that she earned a part in the school play. There’s no reason to feel sympathetic towards April. Yeah, she had a hard go of things in the first Joe Pickett novel, but unless you’re familiar with that side of her story, then all the reader is going to see is a bratty little goblin. At least there’s a reason for Missy Alden’s wicked behavior even as she’s trying to prove her own innocence. It plays into the story. April? Get her out of here already. She’s too much.

While this book isn’t going to change your life or convert anybody to C.J. Box’s beliefs, it will provide you with an exciting thriller with protagonists you can love and cartoonish villains you can hate. Joe Pickett’s family man shtick is evident in not only his personal life, but also in how he takes care of business as a game warden. When he does make stupid mistakes, they’re not so stupid that his family is left without a father figure and a husband. When Nate Romanowski hunts down his girlfriend’s murderers, he does it with precision and intelligence, which is more than I can say about some of the hillbilly villains. Cold Wind gets four out of five stars for being an enjoyable mystery/thriller and not having to be anything more than that.

Evil Shit

VERSE 1

I’ve said some evil shit in my day

Most of it I cannot wash away

Words as weapons, letters as venom

My list of sins appeared to be endless

I’m not an angel nor will I ever be

Neither are you, you sin just like me

Everyone’s got something to hide

But sharing it’s a matter of pride

CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

VERSE 2

I’ve done some evil shit in my time

But if I confessed every single crime

We’d be here forever and a day

Not enough room for us to pray

I’m not a cherub or a honey child

I’m not innocent, tender, or mild

Your list of sins is just like mine

God won’t listen to you whine

CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

BRIDGE

Let’s all go to church together

It won’t make everything better

Nobody would ever die for us

Only in ourselves should we trust

EXTENDED CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Bullets to shoot! Axes to grind!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Never let the blind lead the blind!

The Crazy Ones

The background bickering should have been an obvious harbinger of things to come for Tai. But all that clouded his imagination was Mother Nature’s most beautiful features. Rolling ocean waves washed away the harsh noise. The mountain breeze cooled him off. The desert sun baked him like a batch of fresh cookies. An angelic harpist plucked her strings while her gorgeous voice haunted his mind. Tai could have stayed in this meditative trance forever had it not been for two cellmates who didn’t have gorgeous voices of their own.

“You are such a goddamn idiot!” yelled Electra Shadowwolf, her barbed voice snapping Tai’s eyes open. Of all the muscles on her barbaric frame she could have used that day, she decided her index finger was the most powerful one as she pointed at her partner in crime.

Diesel Reznor swatted Electra’s hand away with his dragon claws and snapped, “This is your fault, you dumb bitch! I don’t know why you’re pointing that ugly ass finger at me! You should be pointing that shit at yourself!”

Tai held his exposed skull in his hand as the dragon man and the barbarian’s conversation degenerated into a cacophonic mess. He couldn’t even tell what they were saying anymore. “Could you two shut the hell up for a minute?” he calmly said to no response, just more shouting. The way their voices echoed off of brick prison walls gave Tai an explosive migraine. He wished someone would smash him over the head with a club and give him a permanent route to peace.

When the throaty voices began to give him schizophrenia, Tai sat up from his cross-legged position and slowly approached his arguing comrades. Despite having a creepy skeleton in an orange kung fu robe staring them down, Diesel and Electra’s attention spans remained on each other and the screaming continued to give aneurisms to anybody who listened.

“Shut!” belted Tai as he snap-kicked Diesel in the stomach and doubled him over. “Up!” He did the same to Electra, causing both of his cohorts to cough and wheeze. Tai didn’t wait for them to catch their breath. He grabbed Diesel by his purple scales and Electra by her brunette hair.

“You two dimwits had one job,” Tai silently seethed. “One…fucking…job. All you had to do was guard the front entrance and you couldn’t even do that correctly. That’s why we’re in here and as far as I’m concerned, it’s both of your faults.” He gave them both a gorgon death stare and whispered, “Shut your asses up and let me meditate. If I have to tell you one more time, I’ll kick you in the head so fucking hard you’ll forget how to wipe your own asses! Are we clear?”

Electra’s fearful expression showed that she understood loud and clear. Diesel, on the other hand, shoved Tai to the ground with one clawed hand as soon as he regained his breath.

“You’re just as much to blame as we are,” Diesel argued while Tai glared at his opponent, unafraid. “If you’re that good at kicking somebody’s head off, why didn’t you do it to the goddamn guards?” Diesel burped, his saggy belly wiggling over his black trousers. “You’re supposed to be some kind of ninja samurai badass, right? Well, all I saw back at the bank was a skinny little prick! And why the hell was I the one guarding the door? I should be the one smashing heads and taking names!”

“You know…it’s not too late to give it a try, you fat bastard. Go ahead. I’m lying on the ground. I’m practically begging you to show me what you’ve got!” said Tai, waving a hand over to Diesel to summon him over.

“Speaking of idiots!” said Electra, her beefy arms crossed over her fur tunic. “If you morons keep this shit up long enough, the guards will throw us all on solitary! We need a plan! We need to talk to our fucking lawyers!”

“You really think some piss-ant public defender is going to get us out of here?” growled Diesel, his scaly nose inches away from Electra’s cavewoman visage. “We’re done for, Electra! This is the last hurrah! And besides, is it really that bad being in solitary confinement? I could use a vacation away from you two dorks!”

Tai nipped up and scowled at Diesel. “And how exactly are you going to benefit from being in a dark room all by yourself? You’d go crazy within the first five seconds. You’d have tears running down your disgusting face like a goddamn waterfall. At least I have my meditation to keep me at peace. You? You’ve got a whole lot of nothing going on in that thick skull of yours. Then again, thinking never really was your strong suit and if it was, we wouldn’t be in jail right now.”

“You little bitch!” snorted Diesel, throwing the first punch in this eventual battle. His heavy arm whooshed right past Tai’s ducking head. Diesel threw another punch and missed again. Then he attempted a kick to Tai’s ribs, but got his leg caught by the wily skeleton.

Tai wagged his finger at his opponent before laying backwards and cinching in a leg lock on Diesel’s thick calf. The dragon fell backwards and wailed in agony while Tai twisted and cranked on the leg. Diesel even tried tapping out, but Tai cinched tighter and tighter while Electra watched on apparently not knowing what to do or who to cheer for. A bone snapped and Diesel’s screams were even more obnoxious and annoying than when he was arguing with Electra, who stood in the corner with her hand over her mouth in shock.

Tai nipped up and gazed down at his writhing opponent, shaking his head in contempt. He then fixed his wicked stare upon Electra, who shook uncontrollably at what she’d witnessed. “You’ve got a problem?” asked Tai, who stepped on Diesel’s injury on his way to hunting down the barbarian woman before him. “I asked you a question, you ditzy piece of fuck. I said…is there a problem?!”

Electra’s breathing intensified and her eyes widened as she slowly dropped on her butt. “Guards! Help!” she cried out, prompting Tai to grab her by the throat and yank her back up to her feet. His skeletal fingers squeezed her trachea until blood leaked from behind her teeth. In one last desperate attempt at freedom, Electra threw a weak punch to the side of Tai’s temple, but he just smiled and shrugged it off.

“I love it when my favorite women scream for me. Maybe that’ll be something I can meditate on once this is all over.” Tai took a bite out of Electra’s face and chomped off her nose, causing blood and brains to spew out from the gaping hole. While she choked on her life juices, Tai grinned widely as he slowly masticated and swallowed Electra’s nose. “Delicious! It can’t be any worse than the food they serve here in prison, am I right?” No response, only chokes. “I said am I right?!” Too late. She plopped on the ground in a necromantic mess.

“Where are the goddamn guards?!” whined Diesel as he tried to crawl backwards to whatever safety he could muster.

“Funny you should mention that, Diesel. I’ve been asking the same question since you botched our bank robbery. I never did get the answer I was looking for. That’s okay. I don’t need one.” Tai stomped on Diesel’s broken leg repeatedly until it was completely detached from his body. Blood pooled out of the dragon’s wound and his screams became weaker and weaker. Tai smiled down upon his former friend and stomped on his sternum, rubbing his foot in the wound and exploding his massive, fat-covered dragon heart.

“What the hell’s going on in here?!” shouted one of the guards as they rushed in from behind their post. They stared with horror through the bars at the bloody scene: Tai smiling like a demon while Diesel and Electra laid on the ground mangled and obliterated.

The martial arts skeleton mockingly did backstrokes over the puddle of blood on the ground while asking, “Well, boys…are you going to take me to my special little room? Have I been a bad boy today?” Tai laughed like a savage as the guards unlocked the door in a big fucking hurry and yanked him by the arms to solitary confinement.

The darkness soothed Tai’s nerves and kept that hideous grin plastered to his bony face. “Ah…no more idiots screaming at each other. I can finally relax.” He did just that. He sat cross-legged on his bed. He dreamed of the mountain breezes. He bathed in the cool waters of the beach. He breathed in the cologne-like scents of the forest. Diesel and Electra argued about stupid shit. Again. And again. And again.

“No…no…NO! Stop it! Make them go away! Let me out of here!” shouted Tai as he clutched his skull in agony. He could scream all he wanted, but nobody would hear him except the darkness itself and the schizophrenic voices that haunted his mind. Electra and Diesel’s bellyaching grated against his ears. The vessels in his brain enlarged as if they were ready to pop at a moment’s notice.

Then the bank guards taunted him. Then the angel with the harp played the same annoying tune over and over again. If only somebody would smash Tai’s skull in and put a permanent end to his agony. But how does he look for a tool of suicide in such a dark place? Where were the walls? Where were the bars? Where was anybody? “HELP ME, I’M BEGGING YOU!” Nobody answered. Nobody cared.

Butterscotch

The tear that burned Abby Cole’s purple and black eye was but a droplet in an ocean of sorrow and silence. Though she kept her head down as she walked hurriedly down the street, she was painfully aware of passersby staring at her wound. Whether it was in pity or disgust, she was too numb to figure out. Their stares made her feel like even more of an outcast than she already was. The difference between the gawking pedestrians and Daniel Park? Abby could easily forget the judgmental masses. After all, they weren’t the ones who threw the punch during school in the first place.

The more Daniel Park’s cold, demonic expression stained her mind, the more her colorful eye burned with pooling tears. His screams earlier that day were barely intelligible, but they were loud enough to leave her ears ringing. His fist was harder than a cinder block and almost put her into a permanent sleep. Getting rid of him would be an easy solution for the school administration, but it would imply that anybody cared. Judging from the cracked infrastructure and unwashed graffiti surrounding the school, the uncaring attitudes of those in charge were more obvious than the all-consuming wound across Abby’s face.

Abby couldn’t even think about anything else at that moment. If she tried to do math homework that evening, she would only be counting the pieces of her face she had to pick up. If she tried to do history homework, then she could justify putting so many violent wars in one textbook, hers chief among them. If she tried to write a poem, no words would come out, just like her current silence dictated. Forget A-pluses and scholarships. All she wanted to do was lie face down on her bed and drift into the darkness forever and ever.

She had passed a few neon signs in the street for barbecue joints and strip clubs and their obnoxious lights burned her eye as well. She couldn’t open it to full length no matter how hard she tried…until a little patch of fur came darting out of the alleyway. Nobody else was there to judge her and the tiny kitten. The cat stared up at Abby with pitiful eyes and let out a series of soft, high-pitched meows. His yellow and orange striped fur looked gentle enough to touch despite him being a street cat who no doubt had to fight for his food.

Abby’s smile was wide enough to burn her eye again, but this time she didn’t wince nor care. “Come on, little kitty!” she sweetly said while kneeling down on the ground and holding her hand out. “It’s okay, nobody’s going to hurt you. Are you lost? Do you need some snuggles and love?” The cat meowed at her some more before creeping up to her hand and jumping into her arms for a hug. He purred loudly in her ear while Abby stroked his velveteen fur. “I’m going to call you Butterscotch, because you’re sweet!”

Butterscotch licked Abby’s bruise with his rough tongue and caused some yellow leakage, but she didn’t mind as evidenced by her giggles and continued pettings. “You’re such a love bug!” she squealed to him. Forget laying in bed all night long. She could stay in these now empty streets for eternity if it meant loving and being loved by this tender creature. Butterscotch would never punch her in the face. He would never scream obscenities about pimping and prostitution. This kitty would never stare at Abby with evil eyes.

Daniel Park, on the other hand, didn’t mind doing those things at all. His familiar gruff voice could be heard clearing his throat and just like that, Butterscotch leapt out of Abby’s arms and hid behind a dustbin, leaving her with a mild scratch on her bare arm. Abby began to feel conscious about any other body part that could be easily revealed to Daniel. Her flannel skirt showed off her legs. Her high heeled shoes gave away free foot content. She pulled on her black T-shirt to keep it from looking too tight on her.

With his victim trembling before him unable to speak, the leather-jacket-wearing, face-tattooed Daniel lit up a cigarette and slowly approached her with a tightened fist. “So…have you thought about my offer from earlier? Are you ready to make me an ass-load of money? I want that ass, Abby. I got horny bastards that’ll pay good money for an ass like that. What do you say?” No answer, only trembles and tears. “Are you deaf?!” he roared before taking another drag of his cigarette and stomping it out.

“Uh…uh…uh…Daniel? I, uh…I can’t do that.” Abby had a hard time steadying her body, almost to where she was going to fall over.

Daniel grabbed a hold of Abby’s shirt and caused her to yelp. “Shut up, bitch!” he screamed as he raised his fist in the air. “I was asking rhetorical questions when I made you that offer. I’m not giving you a choice, bitch. You either come with me and sell some ass or I’ll leave you laying in the fucking street. It doesn’t matter to me either way. Bitches like you are a dime a dozen!” He lifted up her skirt and she could only tremble some more. “Since you won’t be able to use that mouth of yours for a while…I was wondering if…”

Butterscotch emerged from behind the dustbin and hissed at Daniel. He asked, “Who’s that little shit stain? Friend of yours, Abby? You wish your pussy was that small?”

“L…l…leave Butterscotch alone!” Abby flinched in anticipation for another punch.

“Butterscotch? Is that what you’re calling him? Shit, I don’t even have to beat your ass again. I’ll just wring this little fucker’s neck, how about that?”

Abby collapsed on the ground and sobbed as Daniel slowly approached Butterscotch, pounding his fists and earning hisses and growls for his intimidation tactics. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!” he said in a creepy voice. “Maybe I’ll take my phone out and play some Sarah McLaughlin music or some shit. That’d make a hell of an ASPCA commercial, don’t you think?”

“Leave him alone!”

“Fuck you, cunt!” Daniel raised his fist in the sky and poised for another beat down on Abby. She tightly closed her eyes and held her hands up in defeat, so she only got to hear the action when Butterscotch screamed and scratched Daniel hard enough that he let out a monstrous, “Ouch!”

The double-tracked yell plus the goopy noise emitting from Daniel’s wound caused Abby to open her eyes to see what was up. Green ooze leaked from his palm while his eyes glowed neon red. He stared down at her and said, “That’s right, bitch. I’m a motherfucking demon. We’re everywhere! Ever wonder why nobody gives a shit about your sorry ass? Demons don’t give a shit about anyone, so don’t feel too left out.”

Abby’s breathing intensified and her heart rate sped up to dizzying heights as it lodged in her throat. She was just going to lay there for her attacker while Butterscotch snuggled up against her chest. Demons ran this world whether she accepted it or not. Demons weren’t in the business of fixing schools or policing criminals. They were in the business of creating even deeper bruises on people more vulnerable than her. They were in the business of selling ass and literally raising hell.

Abby didn’t want to live in such a world anymore, but realized that if she gave up now, she wouldn’t be able to hold sweet kitties in her arms wherever the afterlife took her. A coffin was no place for a grieving cat. Her body was no place for a demon’s hands, which had developed wrinkles, hair, and claws as they reached down to grab her. Butterscotch swiped at Daniel again and opened his palm gash even wider, causing more green goop to spill.

“Goddamn it, you little bastard! I’m going to rip your tail off and shove it up Abby’s pussy!” Daniel wrapped his good hand around Butterscotch’s neck and was poised to make good on his threats.

Abby remembered that there were no sweet kitties in the afterlife. Butterscotch needed her here and now. If she wasn’t going to fight for herself, she had to fight for her new furry friend. She saw an opening…mainly the one in Daniel’s hideous hand. In one swift motion, she grabbed the demon’s wound with her manicured nails and opened it wider and wider with every slash. Tears poured down her face and blinded her from the green goop spilling everywhere. Her ears bled from the demon’s screaming in pain. Her ears also took a pounding from Butterscotch growling as he bit his attacker.

Soon enough, Abby ripped off an entire strip of demonic skin. And another. And another. Her heart rate could barely keep up with her tearful rage. “Die, you motherfucker! Just die already!” she screamed as she ripped more flesh from the gaping wound. She pulled out muscle fibers and organ pieces. She ripped a piece of bone out as well after some hard tugging. She had to stop her rage for a moment to wipe her eyes, but when they were clear, they widened at her handiwork.

Daniel’s red devil arm was stripped completely of skin and muscles. His green goopy blood sprayed all over the ground and leaked into the sewers. His screams grew silent and more pathetic as he crumpled to the ground dying. His string of obscenities remained unintelligible, but not because of traumatic blocking. He bled and broke until his monstrous, muscle-bound, leather-skinned body was just a heap of crap lying on the sidewalk, no different from one of Butterscotch’s constitutionals. To put it mildly, Daniel Park was dead.

Abby’s body still shook in a combination of shock and trauma. Her painful eye was still wide and achy. Her mouth kept trembling as she spoke. “I did it,” she said in amazement. “I killed that bastard. He’s gone…” She leaned down to extend her demonic-ooze-covered hand to Butterscotch and he licked the fluid off for her. “You saved my life, little guy. You’re just a baby. You shouldn’t have to save people like me. You should be cuddled and loved forever. Dad would never let me keep you.” That last sentence caused more tears to scorch her purple wound.

“Don’t worry, baby Butterscotch. I’ll find you a nice home. I’ll get you away from these demons…if there really are more out there. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if my good-for-nothing dad was one himself. He’d never believe me if I told him what Daniel did to me. He’d just be like, ‘Suck it up! Rah-rah-rah-rah-rah!’”

Butterscotch rubbed his head against Abby’s ankle and she rewarded him with scratches behind the ears. Only then did she notice that his claws were marked with weird-looking runic symbols. They were long, too. And jagged. Did this cat know what he was doing all along? That gave Abby an idea…

“Hey, Butterscotch…would you like to meet my daddy? Of course you would! Hehe!”

"Happy!" by Grant Morrison

BOOK TITLE: Happy!

AUTHOR: Grant Morrison

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Crime Fiction

GRADE: Pass

Disgraced detective turned contract killer Nick Sax completes an assassination of mob boss Mr. Blue’s sons. During the final moments of the confrontation, one of the sons tells Nick the password to a bank account full of laundered mafia money. Just as Mr. Blue’s henchmen are about to extract the password from him via torture, an imaginary blue unicorn haunts Nick’s psyche and agrees to help him out dangerous situations on the condition that he rescues small children from a porn studio. Will Nick Sax become the hero he was meant to be or will he selfishly reject Happy the horse every step of the way?

This graphic novel is incontrovertible proof that not all protagonists have to be saints in order for the audience to cheer for them. Nick Sax is a vulgar, selfish, negative alcoholic who would rather waste his life away than use it for good causes. Seeing as how this is a redemption story, Happy the Horse has a long way to go in order to convince Nick to see the light. The two of them get into schizophrenic arguments that make outsiders feel uncomfortable and downright frightened to death. When the big payoff finally happens, it feels right. Some would criticize Nick’s newfound reasons as being selfish yet again, but that just goes to show how stonehearted a broken man like him can be. To me, that’s gritty and realistic, which is what all detective novels should be like, imaginary horse aside.

Speaking of Happy, I enjoyed his characterization as well. He’s a goofy, lovable, lighthearted ray of sunshine in a world covered in darkness and beer. Sometimes the reader needs a break from all of the R-rated horror and Happy will provide that relief through his personality alone. In truth, Happy is the last line of defense for childhood innocence since he was one of the kidnapped children’s imaginary friend at one point. Once he’s gone, the whole world turns to poison. Imagination is the most powerful tool we have and it took a lot of it to incorporate Happy’s character in a believable way. Good job in that department, Mr. Morrison!

I don’t have many complaints, but I do have one about Nick Sax’s back story as to why he acts as coldly as he does. While it is a tragic story about his family that would make any reader tear up, it seems forced and cliché, like it somehow excuses Nick’s behavior by virtue of its mere existence in the storyline. I’ve seen this trope used many times before and it only numbs me to the real tragedy of the much larger story. But as I said, this is a minor complaint since it didn’t actually derail the story in any way. It’s just a flaw that needed to be pointed out, that’s all.

All in all, this was a fun little graphic novel and I can easily see why Syfy would want to make a TV show out of it. Sometimes it’s fun to root for the antihero, especially when a magical flying horse evens him out. That’s the trick with the antihero: he can’t be worse than the villains he’s fighting. Otherwise, there’s nothing to believe in. Nick Sax’s redemption story is believable to me and that’s why I’m giving this graphic novel a passing grade despite his clichéd character history.

Everyone's a Demon

Everyone’s a demon, everyone’s a sinner

Everybody does things that make others shiver

From the tiniest fuck-ups to the nuclear level

Everybody’s cloned from the same old devil

Skeletons invade our most secretive closets

Saying otherwise is bullshit and I will call it

Putting your heroes on the highest pedestal

Will make your disappointment credible

What should we forgive? What should we punish?

A slap on the wrist or an all-out whodunit?

Where should society draw the fucking line?

What would they consider the ultimate crime?

It’s a constant game of limbo, how low will we go?

When crossing the threshold, how will we know?

Everyone’s a demon, everyone’s a mistake

Everyone’s a devil, for Jesus Christ’s sake

Everybody fucks up, some more than others

Few will swear on the graves of their mothers

That they’ve changed into a brand new person

Yet they still live with their crippling curses

To forgive or fuck? That is our only question

Is the answer even worth a minimal mention?

Go ahead and behave how you want to behave

In the end, everybody sleeps in the grave

Everyone’s a demon on their way to hell

I don’t give a shit in case you couldn’t tell

Incelbordination, Final Chapter

The Patron Saint of Involuntary Celibacy chased Valerie Sand down the empty streets, his breath becoming hungrier and hornier as he got closer to the bare-legged beauty. Every step led her into a nyctophobic nightmare while Antero Magnus grinned with fanged teeth at the loveliness of it all. He could smell her cold sweat and it was more intoxicating to him than any high-end perfume. Just like in true horror movie fashion, Valerie banged her knee against a light post and crumpled to the ground sobbing.

Antero’s Cheshire Cat grin widened as he savored this moment with slow, deliberate steps. Oh, what he wanted to do to this unfortunate victim. Where would his hands explore first? Her smooth legs? Her lovely feet? Her ample breasts? The buffet-like possibilities gave him a tingling sensation in his ball sack. “So beautiful, Ms. Sand…now you’re going to share that beauty with me whether you want to or not.” Even with tears raining down Valerie’s face, Antero saw no qualms about leaning in for what would surely be a passionate kiss. And then…

“Who are you calling beautiful?!” shouted a gruff voice that awakened Antero from his dream. The horny dream allowed him a temporary vacation from his real nightmare: a dark prison cell with a hairy muscle freak lying in the upper bunk bed. The terrorist took a while to catch his breath and dry his cold sweat. He even felt the scar across his face to see if it had scabbed and it did. Rough ridges of dried blood decorated his already creepy visage.

Antero’s cell mate leaned over the bunk bed and scowled at him, his hairy tattooed face a mosaic of true terror. “You must be having another one of your wet dreams. You keep that shit up and I’ll make sure you won’t be involuntarily celibate anymore! I’ve been looking for an excuse to jump you and now I might have found it.”

“Yeah, get yourself locked up in solitary. Great idea, champ,” scoffed Antero as he laid on his back with his hands behind his head.

The hairy beast laughed his ass off in a throaty, barbaric voice. “You really think these guards give a shit what happens to you in here? I could butt fuck you until your intestines fall out and nobody would come to your rescue. This ain’t no PC liberal-ass college campus, buddy. This is the big house.”

Antero swallowed a lump of saliva and feigned bravery when he said, “You’d better knock that shit off. I used to lead…”

“You used to lead what? A bunch of horny losers who are pissed off about not getting laid? Is that supposed to mean something to me?!” The cell mate jumped out of bed and stood over Antero with heavy breathing bouncing his colossal chest up and down. The incel leader backed up a little bit even though he was in the bottom bunk and had nowhere to go. “That pretty little mouth of yours doesn’t know when to shut up. It’s like it’s got a mind of its own. Why don’t you put that mouth to better use?”

The prisoner dropped his pants and underwear to reveal a forest of greasy hair underneath. Antero intentionally shielded his eyes so that he didn’t have to see what redwood that forest was hiding. He didn’t get much of a choice after that when the cell mate clutched Antero’s jaw and caused him to thrash around in the vice-like grip. “Shut the fuck up and stop moving around!” shouted the cell mate, orders which Antero blatantly ignored as he yelled for help.

“Like I said, nobody’s coming to save you! All your horny faggot friends are getting some of what you’re about to get. All the guards are busy making sure you don’t get out. That just leaves you and me, buddy, you and me. We make a perfect couple, don’t you think? You can be my housewife. You can scrub my dishes. You can do my laundry. You can…”

Shuddering at the idea of what he was about to do, Antero reached for the prisoner’s erection and bent it with so much force that it snapped in two. The screams that erupted from his throat afterwards transformed this prison into a bear enclosure. Antero’s cyan eyes lit up with psychosis as he watched his cell mate drop to his knees while clutching his broken junk.

The terrorist got out of bed and stood over his foe with a disgusted scowl. “You see this? This is what involuntary celibacy is all about. This is what I used to preach to my followers. I bet you got a lot of ass during your time under lock and key. But now those days are over. They’re especially over after you get out and find a real woman. Oh wait, I forgot…no woman will never want to date you again!”

As Antero laughed like a crazed movie villain, the prisoner threw a punch aimed at his gut. The arm moved too slowly to make a connection as Antero grabbed the prisoner’s elbow and twisted the arm into a bone crunching submission hold. The incel leader’s expression dripped with lust while the prisoner begged for his life. “No more jerking off for you!” said Antero as he hyper-extended the arm with a resounding crunch.

The cell mate laid on the ground in a broken heap of screaming and snapped body parts. Just like in his wet dream, Antero’s nether regions came alive with electricity. “You think I’m just a horny kid who can’t get what he wants? I’m a man’s man. I always get what I want in the end. Incelbordination isn’t going anyway anytime soon just because I’m stuck here with you. We are everywhere. And you? Now that you’re guaranteed a life of celibacy…you’re just one of the boys!”

“Fuck you, pal!” shouted the defiant prisoner, who received a few kicks to the ribs for his efforts.

“You know what?” said Antero. “I’m done playing games with you. I used to know a guy who was just as pathetic as you are right now. His name was Oswald Crow and I thought there was something special about him. Well, I’m done with thinking anybody’s special, including you. It’s a shame since you’ve got a few feet over Oswald. You could have been one of the great all-time Incelbordinates. But no…you’re just another victim of the system!”

Antero grabbed the prisoner by his unkempt hair and dragged him to the toilet while making straining noises. As grimy as the terrorist’s fingers became, it would be a nothing compared to having shit water cover his hands while he held his opponent’s face in the bowl. The prisoner kicked and gurgled with whatever strength he had left, but Antero refused to let up and even allowed his own eyes to roll in the back of his head for extra psychosis. The harder the prisoner struggled, the tighter Antero’s teeth clamped down. And then…the struggle stopped and the prisoner was limp, his lungs and mouth full of disgusting toilet water.

Antero shoved the prisoner to the ground and stood over him triumphantly. Giving a speech to nobody in particular, he shouted, “You see this?! This is what your prison system produces! He came here looking for an outlet and now Satan is shoving a trident up his ass! Anybody else want some?! Are you ready to give me the woman I deserve?! Or do you just want to sit there and bleed like this moron?!”

The cell door flung open and revealed a squadron of pissed-off looking prison guards carrying batons and pounding them against their own palms. The captain gazed down at the prisoner and then narrowed his venomous eyes at Antero, who looked as though he was just caught masturbating. “What do you want on your tombstone, you little shit? I’m asking for an undertaker who wants to bury you next to Uncle Tuomas.”

“You want a quote? You want a fucking quote?!” asked Antero with extra psychosis in his voice, never once causing the guards to flinch. “I got one for you. It’s about damn time you showed up!”

“Fair enough,” said the captain before whacking Antero across the stomach with his club. The terrorist felt as though he was going to vomit himself inside out after such a blow. And then another baton shot caught him clean across the back of the head. And then a kick to the shoulder rendered him useless. And then repeated stomps to the sternum slowed his heart rate down to dangerous levels. The terrorist could feel his eyelids getting heavier than a grand piano while his crunching bones created a melody of beautiful music.

The beating eventually stopped and Antero was dragged out of his cell by his wrists, his body bloodied and broken while his mind drifted in and out of consciousness. He might have met his maker, he might not have. He could feel the devil’s trident entering his sensitive areas and he wasn’t even dead yet. Before that all important dinner date with Satan himself, he heard a nearby prisoner whispering something that put a smile on his face: “Death to Chads and Stacys!”

THE END?

Game Night

MOVIE TITLE: Game Night

DIRECTORS: John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Black Comedy

RATING: R for violence, language, and suggestive dialogue

GRADE: Pass

Competitive gamers Max and Annie Davis have the chance to upstage Max’s obnoxiously successful brother Brooks when he sets up a live action murder mystery game with a Stingray Corvette at stake. As part of this role-play, masked criminals raid Brooks’s house and kidnap him, though the fight scene looks a little too realistic for everybody’s tastes. The deeper Max, Annie, and their gamer friends dig into this mystery, the more they realize that it wasn’t a role-play and that Brooks’s life really is in danger.

I know that this is supposed to be a goofy comedy movie, but it could easily pass for the thriller genre due to how well-constructed the mystery is. Every time you think Max and his friends have the answers, there’s always another swerve to cut them off at the knees. There are no easy solutions and not everything is part of a role-playing game. That’s the mark of a good thriller: it keeps you guessing until the climax. You don’t know how, you don’t know why, you don’t know who, but if you pay close attention and wait until the end, it’ll all become as clear as day.

And then you have the various subplots within the main one which make hopping between characters an interesting way of storytelling. Max and Annie are trying to have a baby, but Max’s sperm count is low because he’s stressed out by his brother. A black couple named Kevin and Michelle keep arguing over which celebrity Michelle allegedly cheated on Kevin with. Ryan and Sarah argue over Ryan’s blatant stupidity and ignorance while Sarah comes off as a posh and intelligent Irishwoman. Gary is a socially awkward cop who wants to join game night, but keeps getting ignored due to his weirdness. And then we find out that Brooks isn’t really who he says he is, though I’ll say no more than that, because I don’t want to give away spoilers. Bouncing from subplot to subplot keeps the movie from getting monotonous, though it’s hard for monotony to happen when there’s so much comedy going on all at once.

Yes, let us never forget that this is a comedy first and foremost. I watched this movie with my older brother and we kept guessing who the celebrity was that Michelle slept with. We were hoping and praying that it wasn’t Bill Cosby. Oh dear. Speaking of Michelle and Kevin, they received a clue from the mystery role-play where they’re looking for an object that holds whiteness together. Kevin’s first guess was Donald Trump, but it was actually a stapler since paper is white. And finally, another favorite part of mine is when Max’s bullet wound drips all over Gary’s dog, carpet, and shrine of his ex-wife. Yes, I said it: there was blood all over a shrine of Gary’s ex-wife. Let that sink in for a moment. I’d tell you more funny parts, but I’d rather you watch the movie yourselves.

If you’re in the mood for some good wholesome fun, watch Game Night, though I don’t really think wholesome is the word to describe it. It’s dirty, it’s dark, it’s funny as hell, and it’ll make you want to have a game night of your own, though hopefully yours won’t involve kidnapping and murder. Maybe you should just stick to Scrabble. They don’t kill people in Scrabble…as far as I know. A passing grade goes to this hilarious black comedy!

Incelbordination, Chapter 11

“Oswald Roman Crow (ORC?), you’re under arrest for drug possession and conspiracy to commit terrorism. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to legal counsel. If you cannot afford your own attorney, the government will provide you with a public defender. Do you understand each of these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

“…It’s eleven o’clock at night. Give me a fucking break.”

“Fair enough. Come on, let’s go.”

Still exhausted from his temper tantrum, Oswald couldn’t even find it in his soul to resist Detective Mia Barry’s arrest. Then again, how could he with all of his injuries? Even the tightness of his handcuffs counted as an injury to him. Things got so painful for him that he had to be given a piggyback ride to the cop car, which wasn’t nearly as humiliating under Nikita’s guidance. “Goddamn Nikita…” Oswald thought.

Mere minutes later, the dwarf found himself with fresh bandages staring across a steel table from Mia, whose arms remained folded and face remained stoic throughout this process. He could barely see over the table, but he felt every inch of his interrogator’s mile long stare. He didn’t have the disadvantage of seeing this horrifying look during their first car ride together. Now the dwarf’s lips were trembling as he tried his hardest not to break. He remembered the “making you sweat” line and tried to steel his nerves.

“…Drug possession…and conspiracy to commit terrorism…wow, Oswald. Wow! It finally gave me a reason to look at your file a little more carefully. I had no idea your middle name was Roman. Your initials are…”

“Save it, Detective, I’ve heard that joke a thousand times and I’m fucking sick of it!” The sudden loudness in his own voice sent a wave of hot pain through his body, bandages and antibiotics be damned.

“Okay, I can live with that,” said Mia, still stoic as ever. “But here’s what I can’t live with: locking up a young man like you over the world’s biggest mistakes. It’s my least favorite part of the job, but it must be done if we’re to get any answers regarding your connections.”

The dwarf gave a flabbergasted smile and shrugged. “Connections? What connections? I told you, I’ve got nothing to do with Incelbordination! We’ve been over this shit many times already! Sure, they gave me a chance, then I turned away as soon as I saw how sick these people really are! Write that in your little file!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Crow, I plan on doing so. I also plan on writing all about how you refuse to cooperate with us because of your dirty little secret. You know the one. The secret you wouldn’t spill to one Nikita Johnson?”

“That bitch!” Oswald said in a low whisper.

“Excuse me?” said Mia with raised eyebrows.

“Look, I told her the same thing I tell everybody else when they see me smoke that shit: I have a prescription for it. I’m depressed and anxious. You can ask my doctor if you don’t fucking believe me!”

“Well, that’s funny,” said Mia as she gently cleared her throat. “Because when we tried to get in touch with your doctor, he appeared to be on vacation. His receptionist didn’t seem too eager to tell me where. I figured it was somewhere in Jamaica, South America, or maybe even Mexico. Maybe.”

“It’s one hundred percent legal, damn it!” Oswald pounded the desk with his fist and completely forgot it was bandaged up for a reason. The cries of pain suggested he was instantly reminded. “Fucking hell!”

“Well, if what you say is true, then you probably feel confident sharing this secret with Nikita. After all, she says you saved her life in that attack on your school. But it begs the question…why her life and not somebody else’s? There were other kids that needed saving just as much as she did. Why are you so attentive to Nikita?”

With high eye-brows, an offended Oswald asked, “Are you suggesting that I only rescued her because she’s hot? Do you think I’m that desperate for a girlfriend? I punched through a glass door just to get to her! My hands look like shit! They feel like shit too! I didn’t do it because I expected anything from her!”

“Of course you didn’t, Oswald. After all, she hardly notices you in that class. Well, she knows who you are now, but did she really know you at all during those first few weeks of spring quarter? She seemed to think the same thing everybody else thought: that you were just there to fade into the background. I bet that just eats you up inside. I bet that chills you to your involuntarily celibate bones.”

“This is fucking bullshit!” shouted Oswald, sending another tremor through his body. “Goddamn it!”

“You really should take the bass out of your voice, my friend. You should save that lung power for when you take another hit of Mary-Jane. I heard that’s a popular drug in prison.”

“No! You can’t lock me up! You can’t fucking do this!”

Leaning her face closer to Oswald’s, Mia angrily whispered, “I can do whatever I want to you, little man! I could ship you off to Gitmo if that’s what you so deserve. A terrorist is a terrorist no matter what color his or her skin is.” The dwarf took short, nervous breaths at that remark. He eased up a bit when Mia leaned back and talked in her normal voice again. “But I’m not going to do that to you. You already know too much about Incelbordination. You’re too valuable to me. Then again, I could always ask one of the chubsters in ski masks if you’re not willing to cooperate.”

Taking deeper breaths now, Oswald shrugged and said, “I don’t even know what I could help you with! If you actually did your homework on these guys, you’d know that they do their shit online! They don’t use the same chat room twice! That’s the whole point! They thrive on anonymity because they don’t want Dickless Tracys like you sticking their noses in their business! You act like you’ve never done this before, Detective!”

“And you act like you’ve never written an English paper before!” That shut up Oswald in a hurry. “You’re already chest deep in shit, which isn’t unusual for someone as tiny as you, but this time you’ve got to take shit seriously. We’ve seized your computer, just like we always do whenever we book someone. My tech guys are working diligently to see if there’s anything on your hard drive that will connect you to Incelbordination. If you’ve got something to tell me, say it now and make my tech guys’ job a lot easier.”

Oswald folded his arms and said, “Get me my lawyer.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of legal counsel in the morning. You’re probably going to need it.”

“What do you mean in the morning?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Mia stood up and knocked on the interrogation room door. “Take the suspect away.”

Oswald thrashed around in his chair as soon as two uniformed police officers entered the room with sadistic frowns on their faces. “No, wait a minute, you can’t do that!”

“I can’t what, Oswald? Get you your obligatory public defender? Are you sure you want to do this right now while you still know everything?” The dwarf said nothing and sunk in his metal chair. “You’re staying in jail for the night, my friend. Normally, you’d be back at your dorm in an hour or so, but you’re hiding something from me and I want to know what the fuck it is. Take him away, boys.”

The two cops grabbed Oswald by the wrists and guided him out of the room while snapping orders like, “Let’s go! Move it!” During his trek to the holding cell, Oswald tried to figure out what it was he was fighting for. He could have just confessed everything and hoped for an easy ending.

But he had dealt with cops before and knew it was all happy horseshit. The cops often took the side of his bullies during those more illegal assaults in high school. Apparently, the feelings of football stars and cheerleader girlfriends were more important than that of an involuntarily celibate midget.

Now his feelings mattered even less in this dark and dank jail cell. Just one puff of Mary Jane was all he was secretly asking for. One cloud of smoke to dry away his forming tears. One taste of sweet cannabis nectar to cleanse his palette and get him ready for the bologna sandwich he was sure to get. It would do wonders for his bodily pain as well as his emotional. Then again, pain was the police’s business and business was booming.

Incelbordination, Chapter 5

Oswald didn’t believe he had to look ritzy for this trip to McDonald’s (and really, who did?). A departure from the gloomy trench coat attire, however, was definitely in order. A hot shower to melt away the pot stench from his hair and skin. A roll of deodorant to make him at least slightly below bearable to be around. No haircut or shave for him, though, just a ponytail in back and braids in his beard. Completing his Supreme Gentleman look was a pair of glasses that didn’t help him see better, a blue T-shirt that said “Your Favorite Author Sucks”, and a pair of gray jeans that didn’t feel overly tight. He gazed at his gift card one more time before smiling and exiting his dorm.

He didn’t need his MP3 player that evening, just a nice tune to whistle. The sun crept underneath the horizon and gave way to a brilliant dark blue sky. The breeze against Oswald’s skin was pleasantly cool, a stark contrast from the blazing spring weather in the daytime. Tonight was the night it would finally be over. Tonight, tonight, tonight, hot damn tonight! Any guilt he felt about going through with this was completely washed away by the potent smell of greasy fast food wafting through the air.

Conspicuous by their absence was a hoard of hungry costumers, leaving Oswald to wonder where the hell the hookers were. Then again, prostitution was a secretive business by nature, so maybe they wouldn’t come parading down the street right away. The little person placed his order of two Double Quarter Pounders with Cheese, a twenty-piece McNugget without sauce, two breakfast burritos, and two medium Cokes. The way the lady behind the counter smiled and winked at Oswald made him slightly uncomfortable, like she was at least dimly aware of what was going through the dwarf’s mind. Nonetheless, she charged the gift card and two minutes later handed him the food, which he took outside.

Oswald sat down on the curb and scouted the parking lot for potential visitors. Nobody. Not a single soul. Hopefully, the lack of occupants included undercover cops. Oh, god help Antero of Oswald got arrested this evening. Dick punches would be the least of his concerns. The dwarf started gnashing on one of the cheeseburgers and got a little glob of grease on his favorite T-shirt. “Shit, goddamn it!” he said to himself before wiping down his clothing.

The little person was so lost in thought that he failed to notice a slender shadow falling over him, dimly lit skies aside. He jumped slightly at the sound of a feminine voice saying, “Hi!” to him. Sure enough, there was a lovely young lady smiling down at him while holding her hands in front and swinging from side to side ever so innocently. She even wore his favorite outfit: a tanktop, short shorts, and sexy sandals. Oh, this was too perfect to be true. “Can I have some of that? I haven’t eaten all day today.”

“Um…sure! Have a seat,” said Oswald nervously. As she sat next to him chewing on a breakfast burrito, the little person’s nerves spiraled out of control, making him crave a ready roll as easily as he did the food. He didn’t know the terms of how this was supposed to work. Was there a code word of some kind? Were they supposed to eat first and then fuck? What was the going rate for this kind of deal?

The girl did no favors for Oswald’s nerves as she patted his shoulders and asked, “How are you doing tonight? You want some company?” Bless his heart, the little guy couldn’t get his words out coherently. “Wow, you’re tense tonight. Is something wrong or are you just nervous?” Still unable to form a reasonable sentence, Oswald nodded and the girl giggled at him. “Aww, that’s so sweet! I like it when guys get nervous around me. It shows that they care. Makes business a lot easier.”

“B…business?”

“Yeah, business. I take it that’s why you’re here, right? You know, aside from having a good meal and all.”

Oswald’s jaw stopped quivering long enough so he could ask the most important question of his freedom-loving life: “How old are you?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

Oswald buried his face in his hands and said, “Oh my god” over and over again. “I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

He tried to get up and leave, but the teenaged prostitute’s hand grasped his and her eyes had the puppy-dog expression locked in. “Where are you going? You can’t leave me here.”

Jerking his hand away, Oswald said, “Not only can I leave you here, but that’s what I plan to do. I ain’t going to prison for you, sweetheart. I’m not that desperate for a cherry pop. Hell, I’ll probably get my cherry popped in prison instead of a fucking McDonald’s parking lot!”

She grabbed his wrist and begged him, “Please? I’ll do whatever you want me to do as long as you don’t leave. I can’t go back home right now. My dad’s going to kill me!”

“Yeah, and your dad’s going to kill me too if he finds out we’ve been bumping uglies. I’d probably prefer getting killed over spending at least one minute in the sex offender registry. Sorry, toots, it’s not happening. Here, take your McDonald’s meal and leave me alone. It’s all yours. You’ve more than earned your share tonight. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go punch Antero in the dick.”

“Who’s Antero?”

Tucking his chin to his chest, Oswald sighed, “It’s best if you never find out. But if you see him before I do…run!” The little person yanked his wrist away and stomped away from the fast food restaurant, leaving the underage prostitute in a heap of tears and hopelessness. Part of him couldn’t help but feel bad for her, knowing she had an enraged father to go home too. Images of her getting badly beaten flashed through his mind and sent a cold tremor through his body. What he wouldn’t do for a ready roll at this moment.

Once he sufficiently widened the gap between himself and the teenager, Oswald leaned against the lamp post huffing and puffing, though he didn’t do any exercising to warrant such exhaustion. Instead his tiredness was a byproduct of his nerves raging throughout his body. So much anxiety pooling in his stomach like a biblical flood. So much anger boiling in his brain and giving him a monstrous headache. He hammer punched the lamp post a few times and let out a few choice swear words to whoever was listening. He made a big mistake by leaving his marijuana in his dorm room. He came even closer to making a bigger mistake and paying for it with two-hundred percent interest.

Oswald stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and trudged down the street muttering to himself, “I’m going to kill that motherfucker” over and over again, obviously referring to Antero Magnus. A five finger dick punch wasn’t good enough for that ass clown. Dunking his head in the McDonald’s deep fryer? That sounded a lot more like poetic justice.

Before he could spend too much time in his own thumping head, a burgundy car pulled up beside him and a raven-haired woman behind the wheel rolled down her window to engage Oswald in conversation. “Are you Oswald Crow?”

“If anybody were him, it’d be me.”

Flashing a police badge, the woman introduced herself as, “Detective Mia Barry. You and I have a long chat ahead of us. Hop in the car. I’ll take you for a ride.”

Chuckling nervously and waving his hands in defense,  Oswald said, “Nah, I don’t need a ride. My dorm room is only a few blocks away. I can make it there myself, but thanks.”

“I don’t think you understood me, Mr. Crow. I’m not asking you to get in the car. I’m telling you. Like I said, we’ve got a lot of shit to talk about.” Oswald gazed at the detective with frightened eyes. “What’s the matter? You need help getting in or do you just not want to cooperate with me tonight? If it’s the latter, I’ll have no choice but to haul you in.”

“…N…Nah, it’s okay, I can get in.” Oswald slowly trudged towards the passenger seat and let himself in, feigning a struggle just to draw out the time. Once he clicked his seatbelt in, the two of them drove off into the night together. What Detective Barry wanted to talk about was anybody’s guess, but it probably involved Oswald nearly making a huge fucking mistake in the McDonald’s parking lot. The little guy’s saliva gulp tasted too much like hamburger meat and shame.