M.I.A.: The Poster Child of Selling Your Soul

 

Chest Milk

(In the style of “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred)

 

VERSE 1

He’s a right-wing billionaire

And he just doesn’t care

If he stinks up your air

He’s a red-pilled alpha male

Who never goes to jail

SA victims were failed

And he deadnamed his own daughter

And led her to the slaughter

While his mistress broke her water

 

CHORUS

He’s a model and he wants his bottle

But not whiskey or beer, just some chest milk

He wants some chest milk

He wants some chest milk, yeah

He’s sad because I didn’t call it breast milk

 

VERSE 2

He’s a funny, funny guy

Who wants to make them cry

When they’re bored, he asks, “Why, oh, why?!”

And he drives a cyber truck

And he don’t give a fuck

‘Cause he’s gotten by on luck

 

CHORUS

He’s a model and he wants his bottle

But not whiskey or beer, just some chest milk

He wants some chest milk

He wants some chest milk, yeah

He’s sad because I didn’t call it breast milk

 

VERSE 3

And he outlawed the word cis

And his fans gave him a kiss

On the organ that goes “piss”

 

CHORUS

He’s a model and he wants his bottle

But not whiskey or beer, just some chest milk

He wants some chest milk

He wants some chest milk, yeah

He’s sad because I didn’t call it breast milk

 

VERSE 4

And he bought the birdie app

And it’s a piece of crap

‘Cause it’s for slurs and faps

He, he bought the birdie app

A rage-a-holic trap

For those about to snap

Swipe left, not worth a single tap

Uncomfortable

VERSE 1

All this time I was dating a stranger

Thinking she was my queen and savior

Couldn’t get comfortable for a second

I couldn’t form a wisecrack sentence

Stutter, stutter, stutter, stutter

Iron courage melts like a stick of butter

The keys to her heart, far out of reach

Infinite charisma, could never teach

CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

VERSE 2

They say I’m too shy, too out of place

Too much sadness written on my face

Too much anger building up inside

Not enough zeal, too much pride

Could never open up, make the first move

For fear of having everything to lose

Couldn’t get comfortable for a minute

The kiss goodbye never tasted so vicious

CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

VERSE 3

A new friend, a new song of silence

Cower away from the seductive siren

She takes my hand, she tries to dance

Another way to try to get in my pants

Discomfort became seen as weakness

My broken heart shattered into pieces

I swear it’ll be different the next time

Except there won’t be another next time

EXTENDED CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

Uncomfortable in my head

Uncomfortable is what I said

Should I try to say it again?

Or will this loneliness never end?

Incelbordination, Chapter 1

Oswald Crow gazed upon the sea of slow-dancing couples with moisture in his eyes, tension in his muscles, and heaviness in his heart. What he wouldn’t give to be one of those lucky motherfuckers. Just a slight glance from a beautiful woman would have set him free. But the entire student body seemed determined to stay as far away from him as possible. Was it his shaggy black hair and scraggly beard? Was it his three-foot tall stature? Was it the way he dressed in his black trench coat? Or was he just destined to be a loser this whole time? God was laughing at him. The universe conspired against him. The world buried him six feet under. Despite all of this, all he could do was sigh in depression.

“What’s the point?” he said to nobody in particular. Oswald hopped off the couch in the far corner of the gym and stuffed his hands in his pockets, stomping his way toward the exit. He pantomimed kicking at a stone on his way out the door and even that piece of odd behavior didn’t grab anybody’s attention. Dwarf body aside, Oswald never felt so small and encaged.

Ah, finally some fresh night air. The gym doors could have done a better job of muffling the sounds of “When I See You Smile”, though. Not a soul in sight, just Oswald and his sorrowful thoughts as he plopped down on the sidewalk with his fist against his chin. He shook his head and once again asked, “What’s the point?” The answer was easy: there was no point in him being here anymore. He hadn’t the spine or testicles to ask a woman to dance with him, because rejection was more painful than loneliness. It always had been and it always would be.

He could have talked to a counselor. He could have confided in a best friend (which he had none). But instead he pulled a marijuana roll out of his trench coat and smiled for the first time this evening. The smile faded when he frisked himself in search of his lighter. “Goddamn it, where the fuck did I put it?” The longer he went without it, the more frantically he searched for it, even taking off his coat and shaking it out.

“Need a light?” said a startling baritone voice, nearly causing Oswald to jump out of his skin. The gentleman also wore a black trench coat a la The Matrix, complete with sunglasses (at nighttime?) and a bald head like Morpheus, sans black skin. If he was any whiter, he’d be clear.

“What are you, a cop? You going to turn me in for having this? I have a prescription for it, you know,” said Oswald.

The gentleman chuckled, “Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t dream of ratting you out. I love a good roll of green as much as the next guy. Here, let me light that for you.” He struck a match and kneeled down to light Oswald’s marijuana.

The dwarf puffed away until the fresh night air became dense with sweet cannabis smoke. “Thanks,” he said before relaxing on the sidewalk again.

“Don’t mention it,” said the stranger, who parked his ass right next to him and gazed around at nothing in particular. The silence between them grew tense until he said, “Not a good night, I take it.”

“To say the least,” said Oswald as he laid back on the concrete peering at the stars above. Those little pinholes in the dark looked lovelier than intended, as did the full moon. “Goddamn, this is some powerful shit.”

“I should get a prescription for that too,” said the stranger. “It’s funny how alcohol is called liquid courage, yet the only thing it encouraged anybody to do was smash a car against a tree. Meanwhile, people get locked up for having weed around the house. Makes about as much sense as any chick in that gym turning down Supreme Gentlemen like us.”

“Uh-huh…wait a minute…” Oswald sat up and rubbed the glaze out of his eyes. “Did you just call us…Supreme Gentlemen?”

“Of course I did. What else would we be? I’ll bet if you ask that question to any of the Chads and Stacys in there, you’ll probably get a much more derogatory answer.”

“…Ch…Chads and Stacys?”

“Oh yeah, that building’s loaded with them.” The stranger snatched the roll out of Oswald’s hands and puffed it a few times before handing it back. The little person’s eyes widened at the brazen gesture. “Oh, excuse me, where are my manners? I never formally introduced myself, did I. Here you go, bud.”

Oswald took a business card out of the stranger’s hand and read it out loud. “Antero Magnus…that’s an interesting name...Leader of….” The dwarf gave him an incredulous look before reading, “Incelbordination, a Support Group for Involuntary Celibates.” The wide-eyed stare returned as he handed Antero his card back. “What…the…actual…fuck?!”

“I know, right? It’s hard to believe anybody out there actually wants to support us. But it’s true: sometimes we need to talk about our feelings and nobody’s there to listen. Every heartbreak…every downfall…every swallow of the black pill…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…the…black pill?”

Taking his sunglasses off to reveal horrifying cyan eyes, Antero leaned in and said, “Oh yes, my little friend. We don’t take blue pills or red pills. We take black pills. We see the world for what it really is: an ugly hellhole. You know it, I know it, and every Supreme Gentleman who’s ever been picked on knows it too. You smoke that shit for a reason and it’s not because you want the stars and the moon to look prettier. You’re feeling the sadness. You’re feeling the hurt. Sometimes those Stacys like to crush your heart right underneath their five hundred dollar high heels.”

If Oswald’s eyes could get any wider, they’d pop out of his skull. The little man shook his head and asked, “Who the fuck talks like that?! You’re insane!”

Antero belted, “Insane?! Hah! That’s blue pill talk to me. Paul Mauriat was a fucking liar. Love ain’t blue. It ain’t red either. It’s black, baby. You’re not going to find the truth smoking that roll all night long, buddy. You’re not going to find love in a building full of prudes either. Join Incelbordination. You’re perfect for us. You’re brilliant, you’re thoughtful, and you can use those things to combat the injustices against us. You have what it takes to affect change in this world. Take the black pill. Take it!”

Taking another puff of Mary-Jane and ignoring Antero’s remarks about it not helping, Oswald said, “Well, Antero Magnus, if that is your real fucking name…as long as we’re ripping off The Matrix to make points about women owing us everything…I’ve got a Matrix reference for you right now. How about…I give you the finger…and you never talk to me again. I don’t need this Gestapo crap. I’d ask for a phone call right now, but I ain’t got nobody to call…because the only other person who will listen to me is the leader of Incel-Abortion, or whatever it’s called.”

The dwarf got up to leave when Antero called out, “You’re making a big mistake, Oswald!”

The marijuana roll dropped from Oswald’s lips as he slowly turned around and asked, “How did you know my name? I didn’t give that shit to you!”

Antero shook his head and chuckled, “Man, you’ve really got to stop leaving your personal information on Face Book. You think you’re invisible? Bitch, I can see you from miles away with a face like that! But in all seriousness, I do think you’d be a perfect fit for us. You’re unloved and distrusted. I bet that shit eats you up inside. If you ever change your mind, remember: I’ve got an open door policy when it comes to my Supreme Gentlemen.”

Pointing an accusatory finger at Antero, Oswald demanded, “Don’t ever call me a Supreme Gentleman again. That’s fucking creepy. And while you’re at it, don’t stalk me on Face Book again either. That’s double creepy. I’m not like you, Antero. I’m a dying breed!”

Antero’s chuckles grew more defined as he doubled over and clapped his hands. Despite the marijuana kicking in only minutes ago, Oswald could feel his heart thump like a bass drum in his chest. He turned around and ran as fast as his stubby legs could take him, though no distance could ever drown out Antero’s villainous laughter.

He fished in his trench coat and pulled out his MP3 player and headsets. Maybe some good old fashioned heavy metal would shut Antero up. Oswald struggled to keep the headsets on as he hurriedly scrolled through his songs to see what was best. “Strength Beyond Strength” by Pantera always got the job done. Nothing quite as entrancing as listening to Phil Anselmo scream his ass off about legalizing weed. Oswald blasted the volume up to maximum levels and he could still hear Antero laughing in the background despite the distance he had gained since then.

The heavy metal tune carried Oswald through his anxiety-induced workout and landed him into the recesses of the forest, his dorm building not too far away. He stopped running and leaned palm first against an oak tree, huffing and puffing like he had just had a noose wrapped around his neck. He coughed some of the marijuana out of his lungs and wheezed some more.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he wondered in between heavy breaths and burning lungs. “No woman is worth this much bullshit.” His legs wobbly and sore, he trudged back to his dorm building and decided enough was enough for the evening. Although, it was never easy to close his eyes to sleep when they were red and puffy. “Too much weed…too much fucking weed…love ain’t black, Antero…love is green!”

"Lonely Day" by System of a Down

As someone who spends his days waiting for rides to the grocery store and figures to come up on my Deviant Art, Good Reads, and Smash Words accounts, I can appreciate how crippling boredom is. “Lonely Day” by System of a Down happens to be about boredom. But to me, it holds a very special meaning. Back in 2006, I had a best friend on Deviant Art named Colleen. The two of us were working on a tandem novel together. I don’t share my workload with anybody, so that said a lot about how much I valued Colleen’s friendship. It was my turn to write a chapter and I chose to do a dream sequence where one of the main characters, Morgan Gat, was at a high school dance. Everybody was dancing in each other’s arms and in some cases making out…except for Morgan. Morgan got all dressed up in fancy clothes, bought a bouquet of flowers, and showered with Axe products. You know who he did this for? Anybody who would pay attention to him. When nobody wanted to dance with him, he got frustrated to the point of boiling hot blood and salty wet tears. He did something that no high schooler should have to do: he went outside and dropkicked the bouquet of flowers into the parking lot. After the flowers covered some distance, Morgan caught up with them again and began double-stomping them until they were ripped to shreds. Everybody stuck-up girl inside that gymnasium did the same thing that night, except with Morgan’s heart. And then there was Colleen’s character in the parking lot. For the life of me, I can’t remember the character’s name, but she did something that touched Morgan’s heart in a profound way. She slow-danced with him to “Lonely Day”. “Such a lonely day should be banned. It’s a day that I can’t stand.” It was the most magical moment that could ever exist between two people. Years later, though, the novel would be scrapped due to inactivity and even further into time, Colleen broke off her friendship with me when she got a new Deviant Art account and blocked mine. What motivated Colleen to hate me all of the sudden, I’ll never know. It must have had something to do with the fact that I would continually call her “Colleen-Pie”. But is that really a reason to break off a beautiful friendship with someone? Thanks to her, “Lonely Day” has a brand new meaning to me. In addition to the boredom I feel at home, I also feel betrayed by Colleen and rightfully so. Even so, I will not let a good storyline go to waste. In my short story queue for the WSS group on Good Reads, I still have the flower kicking gimmick and it’s still going to take place at a high school dance. But this time, we’re going to do it right. It’s going to be one of my masterpieces, with or without Colleen.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“This week on Cheaters, John discovers that his barista girlfriend is putting the cream topping on another man’s coffee.”

-Bob Magruder narrating “Cheaters”-