Bands With Gimmicks

***BANDS WITH GIMMICKS***

I can’t remember the exact year, but Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger once gave an interview where he poked fun at Slipknot for relying on their horror mask gimmicks too much. As much as I love listening to Nickelback, I’m going to strongly disagree with Chad on that one. Who said gimmicks have to be a bad thing? Why can’t bands have fun gimmicks AND fun music. Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor rightfully put Chad Kroeger in his place, saying he has a face like a foot among other topnotch insults. You know the meme, “What does Corey Taylor think of this?” Now you know.

But in all seriousness, what’s wrong with having a gimmick? It’s not just limited to bands, either. Pro-wrestlers have gimmicks. MMA fighters have gimmicks. Artists have gimmicks. Basically, if you take any profession and add a character quirk to it, congratulations, you’ve got one fun-loving motherfucker. A corporate suit with a gimmick? Sure, it can happen. Suppose a corporate stooge walks in the office one day wearing a Slipknot mask and blasting “People = Shit” from his smart phone. I’d want to hang out with that guy all day long!

Having a character trait of some kind doesn’t detract from the actual profession. In fact, as a writer, I encourage it in my characters. I want to write about abnormal characters with creepy face paint. I want to write about elven warriors with superhero costumes. I want to write about highway drifters who dress like Prince. If there was ever a time to talk about three-dimensional characters, a fun and goofy gimmick could be one of those many dimensions.

But let’s get back to the topic at hand, which is about musical acts who use gimmicks in their art. Chad Kroeger can be as bland and vanilla as he wants, but gimmicked bands have been around since rock and roll was even a thing. Pink Floyd could be considered a gimmick band, especially with the many trademarks surrounding their act. The putty faced masks, the floating pig, the rainbow prism, the ass judge, basically, anything from The Wall could be considered a part of Pink Floyd’s gimmick. They made an entire movie out of that album, so who says gimmicks don’t mean anything? By the way, that movie is one of my favorites of all time, not just as a musical, but as a full-fledged story about a man going absolutely bat-shit crazy.

You know who else has a gimmick to go along with their music? Ghost. Their lead singer dresses in a Pope outfit and has creepy paint all over his face. His band mates wear black robes and demonic masks. Their presentation has satanic symbols all over the stage, which reflects a lot of their lyrical content. Ghost is a fun band to listen to and see live, which I’m about to figure out for myself this coming September when they come to Seattle. Yeeeeeeee!

Any other bands with gimmicks? Babymetal has an anime gimmick. Starset has a space opera gimmick. Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson both have horror movie and satanic gimmicks. Not only do these bands look awesome in concert, but they also produce high quality music to boot. So again, what’s wrong with a musician having a character trait? Anybody? Can anyone answer this without sounding more vanilla and ignorant than Chad Kroeger? Maybe Bill Maher would like to weigh in on this topic. Just kidding, we already know he’s a boring person!

So what kind of gimmick would you like to see in your own characters? A skull-decorated necromancer? A heavily-tattooed alien warrior? A fiendish goblin with a fiery dagger? The possibilities are as endless as your own imagination. But not all characters in your stories have to have gimmicks. They don’t have to be elaborate, especially if they’re passive side characters who don’t add a whole lot to the story. That’s okay.

But if your character drives the entire story, he’d better be interesting in some way. He doesn’t have to have pentagrams tattooed all over his pale body, but he does need to capture your reader’s attention and hold onto that motherfucker for the rest of the story. While gimmicks aren’t always necessary, they shouldn’t be shrugged off so easily by the conformists of the world. In fact, I’d dare say we need a…corrosion of conformity! See what I did there?

I know you all are waiting for me to give examples from my own writing of gimmicked characters (you totally aren’t). So here they are. Beautiful Monster’s main villainess is femme fatale with a libertarian business model and a penchant for vanilla ice cream. Beautiful Monster’s main hero is an elven warrior who worships a lion god and lashes the shit out of his opponents with a chain whip. Incelbordination’s main villain is a Matrix parody who complains about not getting laid and exacts vengeance with a machete and brainwashed followers. Incelbordination’s main hero is a dwarf with a boxing background and plenty of angry reasons to use his fists. Need more examples? Here’s one…

From 2016 to 2017, I wrote a first draft novel called Demon Axe, a chosen one narrative about a titular heavy metal band with a dark fantasy gimmick. They wear robes on stage, they wear creepy masks, they drink bubbling potions before they perform, they have satanic symbols everywhere, and the lead singer’s microphone looks like a war hatchet. This story only a shitty first draft and it’ll be a while before I take it to critiqueville, but I’m proud of it all the same. Plus, Demon Axe brings us back to the original topic of this blog entry being about musical acts. Yay!

Got any fascinating gimmicks you want to talk about? I’m all ears! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another gimmick right there! That sign-off phrase is from a horror anthology called Tales From the Dark Side! Nice!

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WOLVERINE: Aren’t you going to tell me to stay away from your girl?

CYCLOPS: If I had to do that, she wouldn’t be my girl.

WOLVERINE: Well, then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about…Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: I bet it just burns you up inside that a boy like me had to save you. You’d better be careful. I might not be there next time. Oh, and Logan? Stay away from my girl.

-X-Men-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Yes, Wolverine and Cyclops are both gimmicked characters. They’re not only superheroes, but they’re awesome to watch on screen.

Solutions

***SOLUTIONS***

Before I begin, I want everyone to know that this particular topic isn’t directed at one person in particular; it’s just something I’ve had brewing for a while. One of the most popular ways to generate interest in your story is by piling on problems on your main character’s already hefty workload. Or as TV Tropes likes to say, Just Add Ninjas. Or as Jenna Moreci says as well, “Break your hero’s legs with a baseball bat.” I will admit that I struggle with not putting my characters in enough danger. It’s not because I don’t like tension or that I’m intentionally babying my heroes. The main problem with me is that I can’t come up with realistic solutions to these many problems the heroes are facing.

For example, a recent critique against Incelbordination’s seventeenth chapter is that subduing Antero was too easy of a task for Oswald. That’s actually a fair criticism. For a guy who had Oswald wrapped around his finger the entire story, Antero certainly chose the dumbest way to confront him, armed with just a machete and no backup. In hindsight, Antero should have had a better plan. But how many obstacles for Oswald are too many before the little guy gets brutally murdered and nothing is solved? Suppose Antero brought a handgun instead of a machete. It’d be smarter, but how would Oswald realistically combat someone with that kind of advantage? Suppose Antero drove a tank to the dorms. Should Oswald turn into a Super Saiyan Level Four and throw a Kamehameha wave at the oncoming war machine? Again, I’m not trying to disparage the person giving me the critique, but these are points that need to be considered if such a debate will happen.

Another example of something I can foresee going wrong is how easily Scott George from Silent Warrior was freed from prison. Spoiler alert: his bail was paid via a Go Fund Me page set up by Principal Williams. Given the nature of Scott’s crime and how little he knows about prison life, how else was he supposed to walk free? Perhaps instead of bunking with Alan Young, he could have Andy Dufresne from Shawshank Redemption as his cell mate. Once the two dig a tunnel behind a Raquel Welsh poster, they can read copies of Count of Monte Crisco by Alexandree Dumbass until the end of time. Even if escaping jail somehow became the non-sarcastic solution, it’s too ambitious of a plan for someone like Scott. Once he’s free, he’s forever on the run and has no way of redeeming himself. He doesn’t get the girl (Adrienne Simpson), he doesn’t graduate from high school, and he doesn’t teach Adrienne’s father a valuable lesson in respect.

Want another example? Of course you do, that’s why you’re here. About a year and a half ago, I wrote a heavy metal urban fantasy novel called Demon Axe, about a singer who uses a magical microphone to slay his enemies (audiomancy). The microphone in question is considered a MacGuffin, which is defined as any object in which the story revolves around. Spoiler alert: the microphone determines the outcome of the story. MacGuffins are considered a literary sin in most critical circles, but then I ask, what else is Daniel Mercer (the singer) supposed to do? How can he realistically combat someone who has enough fighting experience to murder entire crowds of people at once (that person being the elven terrorist Roger Zee). Daniel’s only combat experience comes from barroom brawls, which hardly emphasizes the technique Roger spent decades learning. Having a powerful weapon like the MacGuffin microphone is the only way to subdue someone as powerful as Roger.

Solutions to major storyline problems aren’t easy to come by, especially if you’ve painted yourself into a corner like I’m so often afraid to do. It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, that’s one of the beta reader’s roles in his or her job: to help come up with solutions for seemingly impossible situations. Granted, they can’t do everything for you, but if you split the brainstorming 50/50, I’m sure the two of you can come up with some feasible solutions. It could be that there is no solution and that your characters have to die a nasty death. It could be that something major has to change in the storyline before the solution is readily available. Working out such kinks is a team effort and acknowledging this will lead to a healthy professional relationship with your beta reader. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“If you need somebody, call my name. If you want someone, you can do the same. If you want to keep something precious, got to lock it up and throw away the key. You want to hold onto your possessions, don’t even think about me. If it’s a mirror you want, just look into my eyes. Or a whipping boy, someone to despise. Or a prisoner in the dark, tied up in chains you just can’t see. Or a beast in a gilded cage, that’s all some people ever want to be. You can’t control an independent heart. Can’t tear the one you love apart. Forever conditioned to believe that we can’t live here and be happy with less. With so many riches, so many souls, with everything we see that we want to possess. If you love somebody, set them free.”

-Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”-

Lysergic Fairytales

***LYSERGIC FAIRYTALES***

What I’m about to tell you will sound like whining at first, but I swear it has a positive purpose. Are you ready? Here it goes. My last four unpublished novels have something in common: they’re about mentally ill protagonists who find healing through Manic Pixie Dream Girls. Watch You Burn features a schizophrenic college student named Mario Bryan whose obligatory MPDG is an anime fan named Jessica Harley. Demon Axe is about a heavy metal singer with PTSD named Daniel Mercer whose special someone is an elven warrior named Raven Triscloud (my friend Heather’s former D&D character). Silent Warrior is about a high school student with night terrors named Scott George who dates the daughter of his nasty ass history teacher. And then there’s Beautiful Monster, which is about an elven mercenary named Windham Xavier who gets raped for a week straight and becomes infatuated with fellow mercenary Tarja Rikkinen.

So what do I do with four novels that have way too much in common? First order of business would be to edit the shit out of them and make the female supporting characters more than just MPDG’s. And then once that’s done, I’ll do what any sensible author would do: publish them together in one volume and call it “Lysergic Fairytales”. Besides the mental illnesses and subsequent love interests, the other thing these novels share in common is that they’re trippy as fuck. You don’t necessarily have to drop acid or smoke weed in order to enjoy these stories…but you’d probably be more likely to give them a five star rating if you did. Pleeeeeeease? Hehehehehe!

Of course, Silent Warrior is a modern day drama and not a fantasy story, but I still consider it to be part of the Lysergic Fairytale genre because it has its own set of trippy moments, whether it’s Scott having an awful nightmare about puppet teachers or Alan Young (bully) hallucinating an entire conversation with his mother in a solitary confinement cell. I once joked that Silent Warrior was basically Pink Floyd the Wall fan fiction. That might not be a joke anymore.

Now that I’ve got plans to combine these four stories into one volume, I should probably try to figure out how they’ll be interconnected, if they are at all. I think back to other examples of this such as Tales From the Hood or Pulp Fiction, where there were four acts apiece. Pulp Fiction’s acts were all tied within the canon while the Tales From the Hood stories were standalone and were only connected because an undertaker named Simms was telling them out loud. Considering Beautiful Monster takes place in the distant past and the other three stories take place in the present day, I don’t see how they could be easily connected unless I happen to pull off some kind of miracle.

Maybe they don’t have to be connected, though. Maybe they’re just in one volume because I’m insecure about the size of my books. Anytime I talk about how my only published novel Occupy Wrestling is less than a hundred pages, I feel as though I’ve stumbled upon a Viagra commercial. Well, I’m pretty sure these four Lysergic Fairytales novels are individually shorter than Occupy Wrestling. Shorter books don’t get as much recognition as longer ones. It’s sad and unfortunate, but it’s a truth I’ll have to come to terms with eventually. For all intents and purposes, the four novels are complete stories with beginnings, middles, and ends, so it’s not like I cut them off too soon. It’s just that I don’t have the endurance for longer stories, mainly because I wouldn’t know what else to do with them.

On the day I do decide to publish Lysergic Fairytales, it’ll be pretty damn far into the future due to how painstaking it is to edit the shit out of complete novels. I plan on starting with Beautiful Monster and working my way backwards chronologically. But the important thing I have to remember is that there’s no rush for publishing novels. I’d rather have a late blooming book that’s clean and readable than a quickly published book that’s a piece of shit. That’s one of the knocks on Occupy Wrestling: it was published before it was ready, which is probably why it’s rated at less than three stars right now. Well, that and I foolishly marketed it to non-wrestling fans. I won’t make that same mistake with Lysergic Fairytales, that’s for damn sure.

It’s a long road ahead of me in terms of editing, but it’s one I’ve traveled before and it’s one I’ll happily travel again. What does this mean for novels like Incelbordination and Filter Feeder? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ll still put in the work for Incelbordination like I always do. Filter Feeder, though not beyond repair, doesn’t fit in with the Lysergic Fairytales motif, so it’ll be left out. Anthologies should be somewhat homogenous when it comes to genres and I’m pushing that envelope by including Silent Warrior, a modern day drama.

Wish me luck on my long and tiring journey! I’m not naïve enough to deny needing it! I’m Garrison fucking Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! My, how true those words will become during the editing process.

***BOOK REVIEW***

As many of my Good Reads followers can tell, I’m on the verge of finishing and reviewing “Truth Is Fragmentary” by Gabrielle Bell. I’m only twenty-five pages away from pulling the trigger on this creative project. I should have finished it a long time ago since it’s a graphic novel and it’s easy as fuck to read. Psychological exhaustion, like it always does, got in the way of my best intentions. But read this book and review it I will. I still haven’t decided if I want to give it a passing or mixed grade. While the themes of exhaustion, depression, and being overworked are all relatable, I’m not so sure if the overall story did anything for me personally. Like I said, I haven’t decided the final grade yet, which means Gabrielle Bell has 25 pages left to, in Steven Crowder’s memetic words, “Change my mind.” And by the way, I’m only channeling the meme he’s famous for, not the actual person. The actual person makes me cringe.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Take one of those and two of these, then watch the walls begin to breathe. I can taste the color of the lights. Wings are growing out of me. The floor is floating underneath. I can see the future burning bright. The ceiling has us mesmerized. It feels like we can never die. Heading for the dark side of the moon. As we lift off into the sky invincible and so alive. Ten feet tall and fucking bulletproof. Insanity is setting in. Reality is getting thin. The universe just started slowing down. Then suddenly we’re traveling a million miles an hour. The shadows all start breaking free, no longer held by gravity. How did we get so far off the ground? Speaking to the galaxy, received and sending back to me. I can finally hear the speed of sound. I like this everlasting pill, ‘cause time itself is standing still. Why’s the room still spinning just the same? Turn off your phone so no one calls, ‘cause you and I are tripping balls. I can still hear ringing in my brain. Insanity is setting in. Reality is getting thin. The universe just started slowing down. Then suddenly we’re traveling a million miles an hour. Insanity is setting in. Reality is getting thin. The particles are dancing all around. I can’t deny the hardest thing for me is finding time to finally breathe. See no signs of ever coming down. Another wave is coming in a million miles an hour.”

-Nickelback singing “Million Miles an Hour”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

I came very close to giving you guys a sneak preview of Incelbordination’s fifth chapter, but I won’t do that because even the slightest details could be deemed spoilers. No spoilers for you, motherfuckers! Even if you bribed me with a Quintuple Whopper with extra bacon and cheese, I still wouldn’t give you spoilers! Hahahahahahaha!

Cowardly Villains

***COWARDLY VILLAINS***

Villains, by their very definition, have at least some level of cowardice when it comes to exercising their evilness upon innocent people. Criminals run away whenever the police show up. High ranking villains use their wealth and power to control their adversaries. Bullies target only people who are weaker than them. If villains didn’t have any kind of power over their intended targets, they would scurry away in fear when the heat gets too hot. When was the last time you saw a caterpillar bully a full sized human adult? It doesn’t happen.

And then you have the kind of cowardly villain that uses their chicken shit ways in order to frustrate their opponents. You see this all the time in WWE with guys like The Miz and Kevin Owens. While the frustration tactic may be effective at times and believable more often than not, you don’t really hear about these kinds of villains in any other medium. Jaws was a big badass shark who devoured his victims. The giant tarantulas in Eight Legged Freaks felt no need to run away from their prey to frustrate them.

In short, whenever I write a story, I prefer that my villains be badasses who will gladly go toe-to-toe with their opponents and will most likely win. Those ones are the hardest to defeat. Those are the ones with the most power over their victims. Yes, Roger Zee from my most recent first draft novel Demon Axe had cowardly traits, such as relying on mass manipulation more than his own fighting skills, but hardcore fighting skills he did have. If anything, manipulating people into believing him was little more than an insurance policy. So you have this deadly assassin who’s unmatched in machete swordsmanship and he’s got an army of believers behind him. Holy shit!

The reason manipulating people is considered cowardly is because the ones doing the manipulating target impressionable youths and already-converted adults exclusively. Do you think for one minute that the white nationalists in Charlottesville are capable of brainwashing hard left resisters? I don’t fucking think so. They stick to their own base and that’s what gives them power. And then that kind of indoctrination is passed on from generation to generation behind closed doors.

So what should an ideal villain be as far as the cowardice-bravery spectrum goes? As I’ve illustrated with Roger Zee a few paragraphs ago, it could very well be a middle of the road deal. If Roger relied on his fighting skills exclusively, there’s still a small chance he’ll get blown to bits by the military or police. But if he blackmails those same police and military members, he becomes even more unnecessarily powerful. The power hungry crave more power and it’s an addiction that rivals cocaine and sugar.

For villains who don’t have the kind of power Roger Zee possessed in Demon Axe, cowardly tactics could be perceived as intelligence in disguise. That’s why we see assassins and hit men in movies run away from the police rather than taking them down with a bazooka in either hand while riding a tank. Some battles just can’t be won, but it’s the war that will determine a permanent victor. In the case of evading police, power over the public comes through self-preservation. The one who is the most energetic at the end of the war will be the winner.

So now we have an axis of bravery-cowardice (X coordinates) and wisdom-naivety (Y coordinates). I’d draw the graph myself, but I don’t have that kind of software on my computer nor will it show up very well when I copy and paste this blog entry online. When crafting a villain, these are the kinds of personalities you’ll have to consider. It may not be as simple as plotting points on the X-Y graph. There are variables to consider such as a powerful dictator being too lazy to do the job himself or maybe some underlying sense of entitlement due to being overpowered. I’m not saying one way is better than the other except for when I write my own novels and short stories. I prefer badasses who will go toe-to-toe with everyone, but that’s my opinion and everyone is entitled to their own.

And now that I’ve mentioned this mind-blowing idea of everyone having their own opinions, I’d like to hear some of yours, my lovely audience. Should villains be completely cowardly or not at all? How many shades of gray are there when determining an answer? Where does your main source of creative fuel for villains come from? We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

This collection of short stories is only three away from being complete. The third to final story will not be featured at the WSS as a contest entry, but rather as an independent piece. It’s called “Bloodstained Paycheck” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Owen Edge, Crime Scene Cleaner

2.      Dennis McKay, Porn Theater Bouncer

3.      Felicia Strom, Kidnapped Teenager

PROMPT CONFORMITY: None.

SYNOPSIS: As part of his occupation, Owen doesn’t discriminate when it comes to clients as long as they pay his expensive fees. His latest assignment comes when Dennis hires him to clean up a bloodstained nudy booth after the bulky bouncer got too rough with a client and committed manslaughter. Owen’s neutrality is put to the test when he catches Felicia trying to sneak free from captivity. She spills the gory details of how she was being forced to perform sex acts on the other side of the glass for men’s entertainment at the threat of being murdered or raped by Dennis. Owen must now make a decision to stay true to his profession or pull the gun from his pocket and put one between Dennis’s eyes.

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

This story, on the other hand, will definitely be a part of the WSS contests. The prompt for this week comes from a list of lyrics CJ (the admin) laid out for us and the ones I chose came from “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett. This story is called “Wolf’s Cannonball” and will bear resemblance to last year’s “Tiger Bullet Kick”. Here’s how the story goes:

CHARACTERS:

1. Big Bad Wolf, Martial Arts Genius
2. Little Red Sniper, Assassin
3. Hacksaw, Lumberjack

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Big Bad Wolf doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation (judging by how he treats his bounty hunters).

SYNOPSIS: The unfortunately labeled Big Bad Wolf has been wrongly accused of stealing children from various villages and now has a price on his head that Little Red Sniper and Hacksaw plan to collect. Instead of trying to explain his innocence, Big Bad Wolf has taken on all comers with no absence of malice. He has a move in his arsenal known as the Wolf’s Cannonball, a rolling attack so powerful that it could be dangerous to his health.

***NOVEL IDEA EXPANSION***

American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both well on their way to being completed and ready for Marie Krepps’ critiques. While there will definitely be a third installment in both series, my main goal after completing those anthologies will be to write another novel. As of now, I have more novel ideas than I do complete scene-by-scene blueprints for them. I’ve made it my mission to write those blueprints for all of my novels so that I’ll have something to fall back on when one novel idea is written out. I did it with a synopsis called “69 Bullets” and I plan on doing it with “Backwoods Barbarian”, the next in the alphabetical order. While I won’t give away spoilers for 69 Bullets, you can have a short synopsis:

HEROES:

1. Daniel Jameson a.k.a. Chakko, Teenaged Porn Addict
2. Leon De Taj, Electromancer
3. Tina Ryan, Heavy Metal Guitarist

VILLAINS:

1. Dominick Zola, Vampire Mob Boss
2. Markus Bathory, Red Knight
3. Bailey Krause, Mercenary

SYNOPSIS: Daniel Jameson is a high school student with a 3.7 grade point average and the admiration of his female classmates. Chakko, on the other hand, is the online alias he uses whenever he surfs the web for porn, both to use and to distribute to other teenagers. Chakko’s main crush is Tina Ryan, the super attractive heavy metal guitarist from an all-girl band called The Angry Amazons. The band is coming to his home town of Seattle, but Chakko may not get a chance to see them. During his internet moonlighting, he downloaded nude pictures of Bailey Krause, a member of Dominick Zola’s criminal empire. Dominick is not happy and wants to burn Chakko alive.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’ve been pumping out drawings like crazy and the next one on the chopping block will be Hacksaw, the orcish lumberjack from my eventual WSS contest entry “Wolf’s Cannonball”. He figures since he cuts down trees for a living, hacking the Big Bad Wolf to pieces won’t be any more of a struggle. The only difference is, trees aren’t capable of perfecting martial arts techniques. Be careful what you wish for, Hacksaw, because you just might get it.

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Human beings are nothing more than ordinary jungle beasts. Savages. No different from the Cro-Magnon men who lived 25,000 years ago in the plasticine forests eating grubs off of rotten logs. No different. Our DNA hasn’t changed substantially in 100,000 years. We’re still operating out of the lower brain. The reptilian brain. Fight of flight, kill or be killed. We like to think we’ve evolved and advanced, because we can build a computer, fly an airplane, travel underwater, paint a painting, write a poem, and compose an opera. But you know what? We’re barely out of the fucking jungle. We’re really just semi-civilized beasts with baseball caps and automatic weapons.”

-George Carlin-

Demon Axe, Epilogue

Every night since Demon Axe’s final concert, all Daniel Mercer could see was the same creature chasing him down the Holy Mountains. His assailant’s face was dripping with blood that was lapped up with a lizard tongue. The creature’s wings were metallic with blade tips at the end of every feather. His fingers were spikes wrapped in barbed wire.

Despite having all of these weapons at his disposal, the creature always carried a bloodstained machete, a weapon that has claimed thousands of lives and traumatized even more. This blade did more damage than any nuclear bomb ever could. In the face of such a brutal tool of destruction, all Daniel could do was run as fast as he could while struggling for fresh oxygen. He tasted his own blood each time he gasped for air. His ribs crackled and popped like he was running on bubble wrap. His anus burned from sodomy and was a constant source of yuk-yuk humor for the blade-wielding beast.

One night, Daniel couldn’t run anymore. He tripped over his own exhausted legs and laid on the gravely ground heaving and spitting up blood. He was ready for death to take him away to a far better place. This version of hell was more painful to him than the pyrocosm certain religions imagined. “Take me now,” begged Daniel. “Kill me, damn it!”

The creature slowly and mockingly stalked its prey with the machete raised high in the air. One slash would be all it took to send Daniel to a more peaceful backdrop. One painful slash that would last all but a few seconds before eternal darkness swallowed Daniel’s vision. And then the creature tossed its weapon to the side while ripping away at its face, sending bloody chunks every which way and making the Holy Mountains more hellish than they needed to be.

Underneath all of that rancid horror was the loveliest, most beautiful face Daniel had ever seen. Long black hair, cherry-colored lips, creamy green skin, and radiant eyes that only an angel could possess. It was the pointed ears that gave this woman away, however. Not even the blindest of the blind could mistake those quirky ears. And that voice…”Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

A flood of white light brushed across Daniel’s field of vision and the scene changed from diabolic torment to waking up in a hospital bed. The Demon Axe leader screamed as he sat up in his bed, but breathed more calmly once he realized where he was. The room was dark, but he could still see the rows of flowers left behind during his time of slumber. He lifted up his hospital gown and saw a nasty-looking surgical scar across his torso. With a delicate touch, he felt his ribcage and noticed there were metal plates and screws where his bones used to be. Breathing heavily didn’t hurt as much then as it did when Roger broke his ribs.

Daniel plopped backward in his bed and breathed continual sighs of relief. The nightmare was over. The trauma would last longer once the initial relief wore off, but for this moment, he truly felt safe and relaxed.

There was a gentle knock on the door before Raven let herself in. Instead of wearing her battle outfit, she was dressed in royal red robes adorned with runic symbols and an emerald-encrusted crown atop her head. Daniel had naughty thoughts about his girlfriend’s new look, but tried not to get too hung up on it given the circumstances. Raven whispered, “Daniel, you’re finally awake. Thank goodness you’re okay, my love.” She tiptoed up to him and gave a warm hug, but lightly enough so as not to aggravate the metal singer’s injuries.

Daniel hugged her back and didn’t want to let go of his newfound queen. But when he finally did, he asked, “How long have I been asleep? It feels like forever.”

“You were in a coma for a whole year. The doctors didn’t think you were going to live through the surgery. But you’ve proven what my father knew about you all along: you’re a fighter, Daniel. You’re a no-nonsense warrior with so much left to do,” said Raven with a beautiful smile.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Daniel with a sheepish grin. “But seriously though…how am I supposed to rule a whole kingdom when I can’t even get out of bed? What the hell’s been going on while I was asleep?”

Raven sniffled a little bit before saying, “Father finally passed away. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but it still hurts to this day. I’ve taken over the throne in his absence, but also in yours. Daniel, I can’t do this by myself. You’re the one who gave my people hope. You’re the one they trust the most. You were directly responsible for ending the nightmare that was Roger Zee.”

“Come on, Raven, you knew I had help,” said Daniel with another sheepish expression.

“Yes, you did have help, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t play a huge part in the outcome. Everybody needs help whether it’s with saving the world or getting over psychological trauma. And now I’m asking you, Daniel, to help me run the elven kingdom. I understand you need more time to recover. But this elf society is a team effort. We’re all in this together. We have to rebuild our structures and bring peace to the land once more. I’d love for you to be a part of that, Daniel.”

The Lord of the Pit stared into Raven’s gorgeous eyes with so many pros and cons to consider. Was he really ready for this kind of responsibility? Was he ready to exchange his role as a victim for that of a courageous leader? These questions weighed more heavily on his heart that the metal plates protecting his surgically-reconstructed ribs.

Another light knock on the door later and a whole host of friends came to see Daniel had finally awakened. Tiger Man, Snowball, and Bone Warrior were still dressed in their monk robes and terrifying masks while Shawn Henry wore metal armor with a sheriff’s badge emblazoned on the chest.

The detective smiled at Daniel while carrying a plate of hospital food that looked too good to have come from such a place. “Danny boy, what’s up? Glad you’re finally awake! Here, have some dinner.”

The singer gave an awkward look to the contents of the plate once it was placed in his lap. Mashed potatoes and asparagus weren’t the most triggering thing on the menu. It was when he picked up a rack of barbecued beef ribs that he chuckled nervously and uttered a squeaky, “Thanks?”

Shawn asked, “What’s wrong, Daniel? Too soon?”

Holding his thumb and forefinger together, the patient said, “It might be just a little bit too soon.”

Bone Warrior opened his robe to reveal a full skeletal suit underneath and asked, “So this isn’t cool either?”

The entire room busted up laughing, including a weak attempt at a chuckle from Daniel, who said, “Actually, that’s fucking awesome.” His smile grew wider when he said, “You guys are the best. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

Snowball leaned on Daniel’s bed and asked, “So when are you getting out of this damn thing? We’ve got an album to record and a kingdom to run. That’s two jobs at once, buddy. We’ve already got the guitars, bass, and drums recorded. We just need those sweet ass vocals of yours. Are you up for doing two jobs at once?” After shrugging silence from Daniel, Snowball said, “Come on, big boy! You killed Roger Zee like the badass you are! You can do anything!”

The Lord of the Pit gazed around the room with so much responsibility in his hands. He took in the scent of every lavender flower left behind for him, no doubt from fans and/or elf constituents. He looked at his soon-to-be wife with a combination of love and lust in his eyes. He nodded at Shawn as a sign of confidence for his newfound role as elven sheriff. The only three people left to consider were the ones staring him in the face with those evil, vile masks. These three guys looked every bit as awesome as Daniel’s band mates of the past, most notably from the first incarnation of Demon Axe to the short-lived Demon Death Juice. They also looked tough enough to hang in a wrestling ring with Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, may they rest more peacefully than Daniel did in his coma.

Taking everything into consideration, Daniel P. Mercer a.k.a. The Lord of the Pit had one last request: “Get me my goddamn face paint. We’ve got lots of shit to do and little time to do it in. Fuck it, I’m ready!”

New Orleans Vacation

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION***

From Sunday May 14^th to Thursday May 18^th, I’m going on yet another vacation, this time to New Orleans with my parents and my mom’s two friends Mina and Navin. This will be my second time visiting the city with my first time being in 2011. I always joke to my mom that she’ll get to meet Duane Pride from NCIS: New Orleans and have pumpkin pie with him. It really is a fun and lively city with lots to do. The food is next-level delicious no matter what you’re eating, the necromantic culture is jam-packed with creative fuel, and the swamps are thriving with fascinating creatures. I’ll try to take some pictures and post them to my social media accounts. Unlike the Mexican cruise, I won’t be surrounded by water, so my camera will stay safe and dry.

Just like with any vacation I take, this means limited access to the internet. However, it’s slightly less limited since there’s a good chance I’ll have my laptop fixed before we leave for the airport. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be cranking out Demon Axe chapters, raunchy poetry, and two-sentence horror stories like crazy. On the contrary, this is a vacation and vacations are meant for relaxing, not work. If all goes right with the laptop repair, then I’ll be able to vote in the proceeding WSS contest. As far as entering something, since I’m leaving this Sunday, I’ll have to hit the ground running if I want to get that epilogue from Demon Axe in on time. It can be done, however. Epilogues are so easy to write that I can do it standing on my fucking head.

This is a shorter vacation than what I’m normally used to, so you won’t have to do without me for that long. I’ll always come back to snuggle with my own kitties and sleep in my own bed. Vacations are fun, but coming home is always heavenly. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd! It’s a goofy fucking name! “Hi, what’s your name?” “Tooooooodd! I’m Todd! And this is Blake and Blair and Blaine and Brent.” Where are all of these goofy fucking boy’s names coming from? Taylor, Tyler, Jordan, Flynn. These are not real names! You want to hear a real man’s name? Eddy. What happened to Eddy? He was here a minute ago. Joey and Jacky and Johnny and Phil. Bobby and Tommy and Danny and Bill. What happened, Toooooooodd?! And Cody and Dylan and Cameron and Tucker. Fuck Tucker! Tucker sucks! And fuck Tucker’s friend Kyle! There’s another soft boy’s name for you! Soft names make soft people! I’ll bet you anything that ten times out of ten, Nicky, Vinny, and Tony will beat the shit out of Todd, Kyle, and Tucker!”

-George Carlin-

Demon Axe, Chapter 22

Roger stabbed his machete into the ground at the sight of various vehicles pulling up to the bottom of the mountain. Police cruisers and SWAT vans, pickup trucks and SUV’s, and finally an eighteen-wheeler parked sideway in the far back to make plenty of room. What it was making room for, Roger didn’t know. All he knew is that these people were worthy of his most venomous scowl with folded arms to boot.

Shawn and Raven on the other hand looked down at the multi-car scene with a mixture of confusion and relief. Was this some kind of cavalry or were these people going to be more innocent victims of Roger’s mad slashing? Arthur didn’t seem too worried about it judging from the grin on his elderly face and the words, “I told you my new friends would come,” to his nemesis.

And sure enough they did. Cops got out of their cruisers, pro-wrestlers wearing their gear got out of their gas-guzzling vehicles, and heavy metal fans with Demon Axe T-shirts joined their newfound brethren in the open space between the semi and the other cars. Once they all assembled with their arms folded and their game faces on, the police captain tested his bullhorn like a roadie would a microphone: “Check, one, two, check.”

Roger’s look of disdain turned into a mocking grin. He even pulled his machete out of the ground to drive home his next talking point. “Is this what you call a cavalry, Arthur? I don’t see toughness from any one of these bastards! I see a bunch of walking corpses ready to get their heads chopped off!” Pointing his blade at the crowd below, he barked, “Don’t even bother drawing your pop guns, because you’ll be dead before you have the chance to use them!”

“We’re not here to arrest you, Roger Zee, no matter how much you deserve it,” said the captain through his bullhorn. “We’re not even here to pick a fight, again, no matter how much you deserve it. We’re all here for one reason: to see a goddamn heavy metal show. We bought our tickets and we’re ready to rock and fucking roll. You see these people, Roger? These are all of the people you’ve pissed off by killing off their friends and family for political bullshit. Did you think these rasslers were going to forget that you murdered Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez? Did you think these men and women in uniform were going to forget that you turned a respectable police department into a slaughterhouse? Did you think these metal heads in Demon Axe shirts were going to forget what you’ve put the Lord of the Pit through? Hell no! And yet, all we want to do is listen to some goddamn rock and roll! You know, the kind of music that gets us through our day with our sanity intact.”

The captain turned his head and nodded at the driver of the semi, who flipped a switch inside the cab and raised the side compartment like a garage door. Roger’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw what the truck was delivering: an entire stage of musical equipment. A bass and electric guitar stood at opposite sides of the stage while a drum kit was nestled in the back. A microphone stand took center stage sans an actual microphone.

Slowly emerging from behind the curtain were three black robed monks with their faces hidden by their massive hoods and their ancient chants haunting the elven landscape. The monks took their positions at the bass guitar, electric guitar, and drums respectively. They stood there languidly for a moment while Roger Zee swung his machete around in the air like he was ready for combat. “More victims? Sure, why not! Thanks for saving me the trouble of having to find you assholes!”

The three monks growled like animals at Roger’s insult before removing their hoods to reveal their masked faces. Just like any member of Daniel Mercer’s band, their masks sent chills up the spines of anyone who dared mess with them. One by one they revealed themselves to their audience, machete-wielding and otherwise.

The tiger-masked drummer said in an Arabian accent, “I am Tiger Man. I was once part of a metal band called I Am Death before you took our guitarist away from us, Roger. He was a brother to us. He represented everything that was right with both our religion and our music. You stole him from us, you sadistic piece of shit!”

The skull-masked bass player, also using an Arabian accent, pointed his elongated finger at Roger and said, “I am Bone Warrior. I too was a member of I Am Death. Everything Tiger Man just said is Allah’s honest truth, right down to the moment where he called you a sadistic piece of shit. I have a whole list of disgusting insults I’d like to use right now to describe you, Roger, but instead I’d rather play the bass and get this show on the road.”

And then there was the zombie-masked guitarist with demon horns and a Santa hat who said, “I am Snowball. I am the last surviving member of the LGBT metal band Juice. Roger, there’s nothing I’d love more than to wrap these guitar strings around your neck and take every last ounce of oxygen from that pathetic body of yours. But that’s not what guitar strings are for. They’re for playing badass music with badass people. Daniel, get your butt down here so that we can get this show started!”

Roger mockingly chuckled at Snowball and said, “I’m sorry, did you say you wanted Daniel to get his butt down there? I’m afraid he can’t do that right now. Let’s just say I did to him what you LGBT motherfuckers do to men’s asses on a daily basis. Besides, he can’t sing to you right now because his ribs look like a fucking jigsaw puzzle. Look at him! He’s easily-triggered! He’s pathetic! He’s a snowflake, Snowball!”

Slowly stirring from his traumatized state, Daniel pulled his shorts up, spit out blood on the side of the mountain, and clutched his broken ribs while making it to his feet. He stared fire and poison through Roger’s goofy gaze before snatching his rightfully owned microphone out of the zealot’s hands. Daniel leaned his face close to Roger’s and said, “I’m not your victim anymore!”

With mind-blowing pain in every step, the Lord of the Pit dragged his feet down the side of the Holy Mountains with Shawn, Raven, and Arthur stabilizing him along the way. Raven whispered in her boyfriend’s ear, “You can do this, Daniel. You’re not a victim anymore. You’re our next king.”

Feigning concern with more goofy facial expressions, Roger said, “Oh, look at you, Daniel. Are you having a little bit of trouble getting down the mountain? Here, let me give you a boost!” The elf zealot planted the toe of his steel boot into Daniel’s butt cheek and sent him rolling down to the bottom of the mountain in a crumpled heap.

“You fucking bastard!” Shawn bellowed. “I ought to blow your face off right fucking now!” The detective raised his shotgun with his trigger finger itching for some blood.

Raven lowered the barrel while screaming, “No, don’t! You’ve seen what Roger can do with that blade! This is not the way we’re ending this!”

“He killed my wife and daughter! He deserves to have his head blown the fuck right off!” shouted Shawn.

“Listen to reason, Detective Henry,” said the police captain through his bullhorn. “You’re one of the best cops we have on the force. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for. Come on down here and mosh with us. It’s a rock concert, damn it!”

Shawn gazed at his police brethren and back at Roger while contemplating the voice of reason’s talking points. As much as he wanted to blow the terrorist’s head off with a well-placed shotgun shell, his wisdom dictated that getting murdered himself wouldn’t do a damn thing for his family. He stood there for a while with fists clenched and his trigger finger pulsating with rage. He finally dropped his shotgun and allowed Raven and Arthur to take him by the hands down the side of the mountain.

“You made the right call, Shawn,” said Roger. “Not that it really matters since I’m going to turn this so-called concert into a battlefield of dead bodies, not unlike the one I left behind back at the elven city.”

The threesome ignored Roger’s immature insults and knelt down to help Daniel to his feet. The Lord of the Pit groaned and whined as he struggled with his equilibrium. His ribs felt like he just ate a Halloween apple full of razorblades and spikes, yet he brushed his friends away and said, “It’s okay, guys. I got this. Trust me.”

Shawn, Raven, and Arthur joined the mosh pit congregation while trusting Daniel to gingerly make his way to one of SWAT team members. He spit out more blood and said, “Give me a goddamn flak vest. Now!”

“A flak vest? You really think that’s going to help you get through an entire set? I’d say you’re delusional, but you probably already know that from being an easily-triggered snowflake,” laughed Roger.

Daniel no-sold the insult as he strapped the flak vest around his ribs and limped his way to the makeshift stage. Snowball and Bone Warrior reached down and gently pulled Daniel up to his microphone stand, where he placed the axe-decorated piece of equipment into its rightful slot. Roger clapped like a little child and mockingly cheered Daniel as he made it to the stage.

“Keep clapping, buddy!” said Snowball. “But before you think you’ve won anything, check this shit out!” The demonic Christmas enthusiast picked up his guitar and flipped it around to reveal it had the same magical runes as Daniel’s microphone. Roger’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in horror as Bone Warrior revealed the same thing with his bass guitar and Tiger Man did so with his drum sticks.

“No…No…NO!” shouted Roger as he clutched his head in while rocking up and down.

“in the same way that Daniel’s microphone carries the lost souls of Pig Man, Vulture Man, and G-Pac,” explained Arthur, “These newly christened members of Demon Axe had their instruments imbued as well. The game is up, Roger. It’s over!”

After whining angrily through gritted teeth, Roger pulled his machete out of the ground and roared, “Nothing is over until I say it’s over! My reign as king will last forever and you sons of bitches are fucking dead! Do you hear me?! DEAD!” The zealot charged down the hill twirling his blade ready for yet another terrorist massacre.

Without regard for his battered ribs, Daniel screamed into the microphone, “One, two, three, four!” Just when Roger had entered the mosh pit and he was ready to bring his blade down on his first victim, he was sent flying backwards by the sound waves of “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera.

For the first time in a long time, everyone appeared to be having a good time. They didn’t have to worry about death and politics like a constant case of anxiety. They didn’t have to listen to their traumatic voices tell them what to do. They didn’t even have to pay their overdue bills until it was all over. It was just a mosh pit full of angry motherfuckers shoving each other and getting down to the classic Pantera sound as presented by Demon Axe. Even Raven, Shawn, and Arthur got in on the aggressive fun, bouncing off everybody in sight and getting tossed around like sacks of potatoes themselves.

The sound waves continued to assault Roger’s mind while his traumatic ghosts haunted him with the loudest voices. Every innocent he has ever killed, every living being who despised him in the present, they all gave this scumbag terrorist the brain fuck of the century. Roger clutched his ears and pounded his head against the ground until he couldn’t take it anymore. By the time “Fucking Hostile” came to a close, his head exploded like a hand grenade and got pieces of brain and skull all over the audience. This wasn’t traumatic violence. This was putting the death in death metal.

The audience roared like lions in a cage and chanted Demon Axe’s name, giving the performers onstage a reason to bow. Daniel, on the other hand, bowed for a much different reason. Even with the flak vest stabilizing his ribs, he clutched his chest and fell to the ground unconscious. His newfound band mates rushed to his aide while Raven fought her way through the crowd to try to do the same. “Daniel, no! Don’t die on me!” she shouted.

No matter how loud the screams were or how energetic the noise was, Daniel wouldn’t wake up from his final nightmare. He was carried offstage like a baby in Snowball’s arms while Tiger Man and Bone Warrior hung their heads following him. Raven tried to climb the stage, but the crowd swept her away and all she could do was allow tears to rain down her face like a thunderstorm of emotions. Was this the end of the elven kingdom? Had Roger Zee taken an entire world to the grave with him? Was it all too late? Worse, was it all for nothing?

Seaside Vacation

***SEASIDE VACATION***

From May 3^rd to the 5^th (Wednesday through Friday), I’m headed out to Seaside, Oregon for a vacation with my parents. I’ve been to this city three different times and it never loses its beauty. Dog friendliness, fun beaches, lovely weather, good food, and lots to do; that’s Seaside in a nutshell. During these three days of rest and relaxation, there will be no creative output from me other than reading my book and maybe some photography (which I won’t upload until after I get home). However, since the WSS contests begin every Wednesday with a new prompt, I’ll only be gone until Friday, so that means I have Saturday to recover and Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to pump out the next chapter of Demon Axe. Keep your fingers crossed that I get to do some writing before the next contest. There will be another vacation I’ll tell you guys about two weeks from the Seaside one, so look forward to that blog entry in the near future. I may be gone, but I’ll always come back and chitchat with my awesome audience. I may even do some of that when I’m using the hotel computer or an internet café. See you later, alligators!

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 22***

The novel’s almost over, folks. Just this chapter and an epilogue are all I have left. I don’t want to give away too much of chapter 22 because I ended chapter 21 on a cliffhanger. Roger Zee sees something out in the distance that keeps him from slashing the hell out of our main heroes. If you’ve figured out what this is, then congratulations to you. If you haven’t, enjoy the surprise. Hopefully it won’t translate to a Deus Ex Machina surprise.

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

If John Cena and Nikki Bella ever decide to have a child together and it’s a daughter, they probably shouldn’t name her Tina. Nothing says “Gooker Award Winner” like a grown woman named Tina Cena.

Demon Axe, Chapter 21

Arthur Triscloud stared at Raven and Shawn with intense neon fury, his sword gripped tightly by his side, his other hand stretched out like a monster’s claw. His daughter and her cop friend held their ground with their own weapons in hand, though they secretly hoped they wouldn’t need them in this unnecessary battle of family bloodlines. The elf princess and the cop nodded at each other and made a mad scramble towards the once noble king.

Arthur held them back with quick and technical swings of his sword, but Raven swung back even harder in an attempt to knock the weapon out of her father’s hands. Shawn tried circling around his opponent, but he was met with wild slashes as well, which he barely dodged. The only thing Mr. Triscloud managed to hit was a piece of Shawn’s black T-shirt. A conservative amount of blood trickled down, but the hardnosed detective brushed it off all the same.

Raven tried to enter her father’s range with more aggressive swings of her blade, but her weapon was chopped in two by the king’s mighty sword. The zombie-like warrior held his blade against his daughter’s throat with her hands high in the air. Shawn ran in from behind and bear hugged Arthur around the middle of his arms.

“Get the crown! Get it off his head!” shouted Shawn, who was being tossed from side to side by Arthur’s thrashing. Raven rushed up to her father with her chopped up blade in hand in an attempt to pry the thorns loose. After one lethal spin from the monstrous king, both of his assailants were chucked through the air and down the steep hill. The two of them lost their weapons along the violent roll down, which left them with bumps and cuts everywhere. They didn’t stop rolling until they were halfway down the hill, where the animal skeletons halted their momentum.

The two fighters felt sore enough to barely move after such a rough tumble. Shawn slowly reached for his shotgun, his lack of speed the result of not wanting to aggravate his injuries. He had his fingers on the barrel when Arthur appeared out of nowhere and stomped on Shawn’s hand, creating a cluster-fuck of popping sounds and getting a painful cry out of the detective’s voice.

Arthur picked up the shotgun and aimed it at the fallen cop, still with his foot on Shawn’s hand. A resounding pump-action later and Raven yelled, “Stop! Stop it, Father!” The king looked at her with deadly hatred in his eyes, but she stood firm with a human arm bone in hand. “That look you’re giving me doesn’t mean shit right now! Roger Zee is out there somewhere and you’re just halting progress!”

“Progress? Progress?!” bellowed Arthur in his demonic voice. “Master Roger hates that word. It’s a word associated with fruity values. It’s a word associated with reverse discrimination. It’s a word associated with disdain for traditional beliefs. Come to think of it, I hate that word just as much as he does!”

Raven raised her bone club and threatened in a low voice, “If you hurt my friend, I swear to god, I’m going to…”

“You’re in no position to be making threats, my dear daughter!” shouted Arthur. “I am the king around here and Roger is going to be my successor! If you take another step closer, I’m going to blow this faggot’s head clean right off his shoulders! Your friend knows exactly what kind of danger he’s in. Look at him shivering like a little bitch!”

Shawn had had enough of being talked down to by a guy who was clearly brainwashed by a torture device. He wanted to restore the dignity of the Paulson City Police Department to its former glory. He wanted to be the hero that he couldn’t be to his wife and daughter. With clenched teeth and trembling muscles, Shawn whispered, “Go fuck yourself, you demagogue piece of shit!”

With one jerk of his hand, Shawn pulled King Triscloud off his feet and caused the shotgun to fire a round into the sky. Raven used this opportunity to run up to her fallen father and perform a body splash on his torso. Both Raven and Shawn pinned the corrupted politician to the ground while the former lodged the bone club into the base of the thorns. The more she pried, the louder Arthur’s screams became. Thrash around with newfound strength he might, he still couldn’t get all of that weight off of his chest and legs.

Arthur managed to free one of his legs and kick Shawn in the face hard enough to break his nose. With nobody to hold his legs and the detective grunting in hardcore pain, the king’s leg thrashing gave him more power to toss around Raven while he was on his back. And then the sound of wood snapping echoed across the Holy Mountains. As Arthur laid still and bellowed in agony, Raven jammed the bone club in further and pried even more pieces out of his head until the crown was completely broken.

With a bloody ring around his skull, Arthur’s demonic eyes slowly began losing their glow. Raven stood back with Shawn as her father made the transformation from brainwashed zombie to regal king once more. His eyes dimmed some more and he tossed and turned until he ran out of energy and passed out. His body was as limp as lifeless as any corpse found on the mountainside. For the longest few seconds, he didn’t move a muscle.

With Shawn still holding his broken nose, he and Raven approached the elven king for fear that they might have inadvertently killed him. “Come on, Dad! Breathe! Breath, goddamn it!” roared Raven with tears in her eyes. Her father still didn’t move and even more tears poured down her cheeks while Shawn used his free hand to comfort her shoulder. Another death in Roger’s long and torturous campaign of slaughter.

And just as the sun rose over the mountainside, Arthur’s fingers twitched slightly. His eyes slowly opened. He stretched out as if he had taken a long nap. Raven and Shawn pulled him up in a seated position and then the elven princess hugged her king with all the tightness and tears she could muster.

“Raven, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, my dear. I never would have dreamed of doing this to my own flesh and blood,” said Arthur in his warm and loving elderly voice. The father and daughter duo hugged it out for the longest time while Shawn stood up and watched with a smile on his face despite blood pouring down his lips. Arthur then broke the embrace and asked, “Where’s Daniel? Did Roger take him?”

“He pulled Daniel underground once the battle began,” explained Shawn. “Where the hell’s my shotgun; I want to blow this cocksucker’s head off!”

“Did you say you were looking for a cocksucker?” asked Roger, who appeared out of nowhere with a sick grin on his hideous face, his machete in one hand, and Daniel’s microphone in the other. Shawn, Raven, and Arthur gazed at the zealot with horrified eyes as he reached down and pulled Daniel out of the ground by his hair like a vegetable. “Your cocksucker is right here.”

Though still alive and breathing, Daniel was curled up in the fetal position with his shorts and underwear around his ankles and white and red fluids coming out of his mouth and anus. The once intense heavy metal singer was reduced to a thumb-sucking mess who rocked back and forth and held his broken ribs like a mother cradling a child.

While Shawn and Arthur’s eyes grew even bigger and more horrified than before, Raven had a new reason for tears to pour from her eyes like waterfalls. “What have you done to him, you monster!” she shouted at Roger before rushing up to cradle Daniel’s traumatized head in her arms.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done on your honeymoon, sweetheart,” said Roger in a cold tone. Raven could do nothing but sob for her sodomized boyfriend and rock him back and forth like the baby he felt like being. Even Shawn and Arthur had tears in their own eyes after watching such an evil display of control.

Roger lifted his machete over his shoulders and said nonchalantly, “Well, I had my fun for the day. Should I just kill all four of you now or should I wait until your so-called friends get here, my liege? Heh, some friends they are. What kind of people leave their bestie high and dry like this? Reminds me of someone I know, someone who’s weapon of choice was the almighty Demon Axe. But hey, Daniel, don’t worry about a thing; I’m sure your old band mates forgive you, right? I bet those two blowhard wrestlers forgive you too, considering they come from an industry that just bathes in friendship and love.”

Daniel didn’t respond to these slanderous accusations. He just curled up and allowed Raven to mother him during his moment of psychological numbness and infinite terror. Right or wrong, Roger Zee made more sense to him than anybody telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was always his fault. Anybody who said differently was a bigger liar than any politician on TV.

The sun continued to peak over the horizon, but none of the four heroes felt like fun in the sun. They could do nothing but stand there and watch Roger laugh like a psychotic hyena. They could have just as easily picked a fight with the guy, but what power did they really have? They were just four guys and Roger was the ultimate fighting machine with a penchant for rape and “fun”.

By the time the sun flooded the clouds with intense color, Roger’s laughter mysteriously came to an end as he saw something in the distance. He didn’t know what it was, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it.

Demon Axe, Chapter 20

“The Holy Mountains? Are you fucking serious? That’s what Roger Zee calls these big ass piles of dirt and stone? Holy shit!” said Daniel Mercer with a scowl on his face and his arms folded while never letting go of his trustworthy microphone. Shawn Henry had his shotgun locked and loaded while Raven Triscloud had her blade within firm grasp. These were three badasses who were ready to do battle. Even though they had reached their final destination, they wondered what was taking so long for the battle to begin.

Raven explained, “The Holy Mountains as Roger called them were secret places where The Order of the Spider would torture prisoners. I guess he’s feeling nostalgic by bringing my father back here…if he is here at all. The Holy Mountains would be my first guess.”

“It’s almost as if he wants us to find him,” suggested Shawn. “Arrogant little punk. We’ll see how full of himself he is when I put one between his fucking eyes.”

“Just tread carefully, both of you,” warned Raven. “There’s a reason he chose this pile of rocks and dirt as Daniel so eloquently put it. We could we walking right into a trap for all we know. Then again, fighting Roger is a trap in and of itself. Trust me, I know.”

“I’ll take my chances with the Holy-Pile-of-Dog-Shit,” said Daniel. “Let’s get moving.”

The three renegades trekked slowly and carefully up the hillside, the steep angle putting a dull strain on their leg muscles. No traps so far, just piles of bones scattered across the hill whether they belonged to a human, elf, or animal. The stench of this place wasn’t any more pleasant. If a meat truck had crashed into a sewage treatment plant, that’s what the Holy Mountains would have smelled like with all of the dead carcasses lying around. All three warriors kept their noses in their shirts until they reached the top of the hill.

“That’s him! That’s my father!” exclaimed Raven. The three adventurers rushed over to his fallen body and checked to see if the old man was still alive. They all saw the same thing: a crown of thorns around his head and a neon glow in his eyeballs. They slowly edged away from Arthur Triscloud’s body, fearing the absolute worst scenario they could.

The old man rose to his feet like a zombie thirsting for a second life. His smile was contorted, his beard was covered in dirt and worms, his flesh was vein-covered and rotting. He spoke to his opponents in a low growl reminiscent of a demonic tiger. “Master Roger wants death…and I shall give him death!” The brainwashed Arthur unleashed a creepy laugh that only an insane asylum full of psychopaths could utter.

Raven didn’t even try to reason with her father; it would have been useless. Instead, she and Detective Henry stood their ground with battle born looks on their faces and their weapons ready. She said, “Daniel, you know exactly what to do to someone with a crown of thorns.”

“I’m on it, sugar tits,” said Daniel, who cleared his throat of all the snot and bile that the dusty air brought up within him. His mouth was centimeters away from the mouthpiece of the microphone. He was primed and ready to shout every heavy metal lyric he could muster into this deadly piece of musical equipment.

And then while everyone was too focused on Arthur Triscloud’s zombie form, two powerful hands grabbed Daniel around the ankles and dragged him roughly beneath the ground, causing him to drop his microphone in the process. While Raven was shouting for her boyfriend and reaching out her hand, Daniel’s body scraped across the jagged bones and rocks of the underground cavern.

Once he hit the ground, Daniel groaned and wrapped his arms around himself in agonizing pain. He was shrouded in darkness, but only until a familiar being lit a torch on the wall with the most hellish fire. With his retinas burning beneath the flames, the Lord of the Pit could barely make out the features of Roger Zee, same ugly face, same blood soaked uniform, same horrifying machete.

Daniel ignored the wicked smile Roger gave him and instead tried to reach over to retrieve his fallen microphone, to which the elf zealot stepped on his wrist and ground his boot into the fragile bone. Daniel shrieked in pain as he tried to rip his hand away from the heartless soldier.

Roger took his boot off voluntarily and grabbed Daniel by his shirt to hoist him off the ground. The zealot then slammed the heavy metal singer back first against the rocky wall multiple times before holding him in place by his jaw, which emitted quick and painful breaths.

“I bet you’re wondering why we called ourselves the Order of the Spider. Trap door references aside, it’s because we evoke fear in the hearts of everyone who crosses us. I can smell it coming off you for miles, my friend. It smells like a bucket of greasy fried chicken!” Roger emphasized that last word with another slam against the wall. “I bet you taste just like fried chicken too. You have every right in the world to be scared of me, Daniel. I’m going to have some fun with you, buddy. I could just as easily kill your ass right now with my lovely blade. But where’s the excitement in that? Huh?!”

“You know why you’re not killing me right now?” said Daniel through fast and raspy breaths. “Because you’re a fucking coward! Terrorists like you always are! You think you’re hot shit because you killed a crowd full of people, but you’re not different from the high school senior who took my lunch money on a regular basis! You’re a coward, Roger! A chicken shit coward!”

Roger slammed Daniel against the wall yet again and earned another painful cry from the Lord of the Pit. The elf leaned in closer and said, “Right, I’m the coward here. I’m the one shaking in my boots ready to piss myself at a moment’s notice. You sure do have your facts straight, don’t you, buddy.” Daniel hocked up a bloody wad of spit and launched it into Roger’s face, to which the elf smiled even more evilly and slammed Daniel against the wall multiple times. Every pound against the singer’s back was met with a tearful cry of brutal pain. He might have even heard a few pops here and there.

Roger continued to grin at his victim when he asked, “Do you like videogames, Daniel? Believe it or not, I liked them too when I was young. They give me some nice creative fuel. Society likes to blame youth violence on videogames and they’re only halfway right. The other half of it…it comes from within. Let’s see if you remember which videogame this comes from. Tiger Knee!”

The elf terrorist buried his rock-hard knee into Daniel’s ribs, cracking them like glass and forcing the singer to scream through coughed up blood. “Tiger Uppercut!” yelled Roger as he buried his clenched fist right into the other side of Daniel’s ribs, shattering them like china plates and getting even more blood to waterfall from the singer’s mouth.

The singer dropped to the ground and crawled like a snail across gravel toward his microphone, to which Roger just folded his arms and smiled some more. He even said, “What are you waiting for, Mr. Mercer? Isn’t that microphone supposed to be the answer to all of your problems? Didn’t King Triscloud give that to you specifically for slaying me?”

Daniel finally made it to the microphone, but not without scraping his chest across the bone-covered ground and developing rashes along the way. He grabbed a hold of the wall and gingerly pulled himself up, every ounce of effort sending a cataclysm of agony through his chest. Even standing upright felt like he swallowed the spiked ball on a morning star.

Roger mockingly held his ear up close to the singer and waved his fingers back and forth like a conductor. “Go ahead, Daniel. Serenade me with your sweet sound. I’m dying to hear that beautiful voices of yours.”

Daniel brought the mouthpiece to his lips and breathed heavily before trying to let out a death metal scream. One decibel of sound and the singer was on the ground clutching his broken ribs and screaming like hell (though the screaming actually made his pain worse). That was the elf and human kingdoms’ last hope in a crumbled heap on the ground looking as pathetic as a dead body.

Roger chuckled at his fallen foe and said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that your pipes don’t work anymore. It’s kind of hard to have a career in heavy metal music when your ribs are all busted up like that. But don’t worry, Daniel. You still have other parts of your body that are functioning perfectly well. The question now becomes, which one functions better: your pretty little mouth or your sweet little anus?” The question was punctuated with the sound of Roger’s pants zipper coming undone. “Like I told you, I intend to have some fun with you, buddy. I’m going to have the best kind of fun there is. It’s the oldest profession in history and it’s going to be your new career. Open wide!”

“NO!!” shouted Daniel in a prolonged cry that further grinded his ribs like coffee beans.

Resting Bitch Face

***RESTING BITCH FACE***

I don’t take selfies very often unless it’s for Independent Author Day or Halloween (because I’m wearing a mask). I don’t own a smart phone, so I wouldn’t be able to take selfies anyways unless it was with my digital camera and someone else was the photographer. I don’t enjoy the way I look on camera (unless the photographer had some Photoshop magic to make me look like a sexy beast). But the biggest reason I don’t take selfies is because I don’t like to smile for fake reasons. As someone with Resting Bitch Face, smiling isn’t natural for me, so I don’t like being told to do it even for pictures.

Yes, Resting Bitch Face is a real thing for both men and women. It’s when your neutral expression makes you look annoyed, pissed off, or sad even though you’re not any of those things at the moment. If you have RBF, you’ve probably gotten tons of questions like “Are you okay?” and “What’s wrong?” in your lifetime. When I was dating Brianna, she would always ask if I was okay and I’d always answer yes. Whenever I went to a concert at the White River Amphitheater, the security personnel would also ask if I was okay and I’d give them the same answer.

And speaking of concerts, I saw Five Finger Death Punch in Tacoma back in November of last year and the couple sitting in front of me took a selfie with me looking angry in the background. We had a good laugh over it. But yes, it’s true: even when my heavy metal idols Five Finger Death Punch are the entertainment for the evening, I look like I want to strangle someone even though I’m feeling peaceful, if not excited for the music.

I Googled Resting Bitch Face and some search results said that it’s the reason people remain single or don’t get hired. So this is it, huh? I have to pretend to be something I’m not in order to gain an advantage in this world. Sounds familiar. Asking an RBF patient to smile relentlessly is like asking a skinny kid to be interested in football so that the big beefy jocks will like him. Yes, it seems like such an easy thing to just smile all the time. People say the same thing about introverts speaking up in class discussions or making a million friends. Just because it seems easy to an outsider, doesn’t mean it is for the person living the experience.

When it comes to my RBF, I don’t try to change it for other people. I own it. I make it a part of my unique personality. Do I have a million friends? No. Do I make millions of dollars in some job I wouldn’t want anyways? No. As a matter of fact, people in public tend to gravitate away from me, which is alright with me, because I don’t have to engage in small talk with people I don’t give a shit about.

Truth is, there’s no real reason why people make angry expressions when they feel neutral. It’s just the way it is. There’s no reason why people have big noses or pointy ears. It just happens. If you want to get a good feel for what a person is like beyond their rough exterior, show interest instead of just talking for the sake of talking. Maybe the guy with RBF is a poet and you don’t know it. Maybe the chick with RBF is an anime-loving nerd with more creative fuel than she knows what to do with. We’re not trying to push you away (unless you’re just there to chit-chat instead of showing genuine interest).

There are lots of articles and videos out there about RBF. I’m not a scientist who studies this phenomenon; I’m just an opinionated person who’s living through it. If you be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. If you give me a reason to smile, I’ll give you what you’ve truly earned. Smiles have to be earned in this world; they’re not automatic. Some people deserve smiles, others don’t. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 20***

There are only two chapters remaining of this ongoing novel and the twentieth one will feature the final battle between Daniel Mercer and Roger Zee. Is it as simple as yelling obscenities into a magical microphone? Not when you have broken ribs and every scream hurts like a bitch. Perhaps someone else can do the dirty work, someone like Raven or Shawn. Nah, those guys are busy enough already trying to fend off King Arthur Triscloud, who has a crown of thorns around his head. If you were expecting an easy victory just because someone has a magical microphone, you’re sadly mistaken. If Daniel and his crew want to win this war, they have to earn it, just like strangers have to earn my smile.

Speaking of people with RBF…

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

If Samoa Joe and Kevin Owens ever become an official tag team, what will their group name be? Jowens? Samowens? Sevin? Hmm…

Demon Axe, Chapter 19

The bindings on Arthur Triscloud’s wrists and ankles cut so deeply into him that it felt like it was being branded with an iron. Such slow agony didn’t weigh nearly as heavily on his mind as watching down below from his crucified position, where Roger Zee sharpened his bloodied machete with a whetstone. Arthur could hear the squawks of crows and ravens circling above him. Any minute now they would begin to peck his eyes out and leave him a violent mess. To die atop these holy mountains in such a cruel fashion burned a look of silent rage on Arthur’s face.

“I see the writing on the wall, my old friend,” said Arthur, which garnered no attention from Roger. “This is more than about rightwing politics for you. This runs much deeper. But that’s what I need help in understanding. Where did it all go wrong? What the hell has happened to you?! I once considered you to be a brother of mine! You were next in line for the throne! And then you threw it all away…for what?!”

Roger stopped sharpening his blade and cast a vicious gaze at his king. The zealot stood up and sheathed his weapon before speaking to his captive with venom in his voice. “The throne? Are you sure that title wasn’t reserved for that heavy metal goofball Daniel Mercer? I know all about your plans. I know what you want for this kingdom. For a man of such wisdom, you’ve sure made the dumbest decision of your life in choosing him over me. He can’t even govern his own mind, let alone an entire nation of people.”

“For his tortured state of mind, I blame you, Roger,” snapped Arthur. “You haven’t been the same ever since I’ve dissolved the Order of the Spider. You’re the last of that elite group and now you’ve brought shame with your countless murders. You can never go back to being that noble friend you once were. I broke up the Order of the Spider because you and your group couldn’t stop torturing your prisoners for information. I don’t care if the human kingdom destroys our entire race; torture is not acceptable, not in this nation, not in any other!”

“Is that what this is about?!” roared Roger as he unsheathed his blade once more. “You social justice warriors are all the same to me. You want solutions to the world’s problems, but when someone like me provides the best kind there is, you squeal like a bunch of pigs! And if you want to argue psychological triggers, try arguing with me about the consequences of breaking up the Order! Together, my men and I were an elite team of warriors! In the midst of war, you separated us! Every damn day I would get letters in the mail about one of my crew being slaughtered by those disgusting humans! They were more than just crew members! They were friends! Brothers! Family! I’d die alongside them if I could!”

A beat of uncomfortable silence was broken when Roger marched up to where Arthur was perched and grabbed him by the hair before pulling his face closer and saying in a demonic tone, “Look into my eyes, my lord! Tell me what you see! Do you see the strength of a thousand men or do you see someone who is broken beyond repair?!”

Arthur’s features softened even after having his hair pulled when he realized, “You have PTSD too, just like Daniel.”

“Every damn day it hurts, Arthur! Sometimes I wake up and I don’t know where the fuck I am! Sending those faggots and hippies to the depths of hell was the only way I could shut up the voices of my own men calling me a coward! Take a look into my eyes, my lord! Who’s screaming now?! Who the fuck is screaming now?!” shouted Roger.

Arthur’s teeth were gritted and his face was trembling with anger. “I don’t care how badly you hurt every night. I don’t care what kind of nightmares you wake up from. What you’re doing is wrong. It’s about as wrong as it gets! Torturing prisoners is not what we’re all about and neither is random murder! The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner your own cohorts will give you peace!”

Roger held his blade to the king’s throat and a trickle of blood ran down the royalty’s neck. Arthur remained brave as he stared death in the face with a poisonous frown. “Go ahead and kill me! I’ve already made up my mind as to who’s taking over my throne! Daniel Mercer is more of a leader than you could ever be in your lifetime! He doesn’t need a machete to get his point across! He has something even more powerful than a blade or a gun: his voice.”

Roger pressed the blade to Arthur’s neck even further without killing him or drawing more blood. After a lengthy stare-down between the two with twitching faces and raging expressions, the zealot sheathed his weapon once more and slowly backed away before folding his arms. He then smiled and said, “Slashing your neck would be too easy. After what you’ve done to my men, you deserve a much slower death than that. I reckon those ravens and crows are getting hungry right about now. It wouldn’t be right of me to deny them a fresh meal.”

“Do your worst, you psychotic bastard,” spat Arthur. “Before the birds dine on my facial features, there’s something you need to know. You can’t win, Roger. Your quest of pain and agony is about to come crashing down around you. The elves and the humans will know peace once again.”

Roger chuckled and said, “Is that really the fantasy that keeps you going throughout your elder years? And here I thought the slow burn of old age would have erased that shit from your head a long time ago!”

“It’s not a fantasy, Roger. It’s the truth,” said the king. “While you were busy waging war with your own kind and committing all sorts of treasonous crimes, I’ve reached out to a few of my brand new friends. As it turns out, you’ve angered a lot of people with your heinous murders.”

“Of course I’ve angered people! At least now those media anchors have something worthwhile to talk about instead of some movie star taking a shit in public!”

“I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, Roger,” said Arthur with a half-smile. “You’ve pissed off…a lot of people. You’ve manipulated the police department from the inside and led many of those people to their deaths. You’ve slaughtered entire arenas full of people. You’ve taken folk heroes away from the public eye. You think their families and friends are going to be afraid of you forever? Fear can only work for so long before these “faggots and hippies” as you call them grow a solid steel spine. It’s over, Roger. It’s all over!”

“Ha!” shouted Roger. “You really think an army of nitwits is going to pose any kind of threat to me?! This whole campaign of mine was based on the idea of me slaughtering large numbers of people! Bring your cops, your bouncers, your social justice warriors, your fan boys, your fan girls, I will slay the shit out of each and every one of them! And the best part about all of this? Their blood will be on your hands, Arty-Boy! You called them over here, and now they’re going to look great lying face down in the mud!”

After the zealot let out a thunderous laughter, Arthur said, “Keep telling yourself that, you vile scum! Maybe if you say it long enough, the voices in your head will agree with you on something other than murder and torture!”

“Enough!” bellowed Roger, creating a chasm of silence between himself and the king of elves. “The more I think about it, the more I start to wonder if crucifying your pathetic ass is too good for you. Yes, I believe I’ve arrived at that point with you, my king. You’ve actually managed to be so annoying that the slowest of slow torture won’t be enough for you.”

Roger reached in his pocket and pulled out a magical crown of thorns not unlike the ones he placed on the heads of Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez prior to their deaths. Arthur gazed upon the unholy artifact with wide-eyed fear. “Those were supposed to be banned a long time ago! Why did you have one in your pocket?!”

“Once again, your false wisdom amazes me, my king. Just because there’s a law against something, doesn’t mean it’s not going to exist. If the human nation figured that out with guns, we’d have a lot less dead motherfuckers in the earthly realm. You see, my liege, before your little army of halfwits come riding into battle with their horses and their chariots, you and I are going to have some company in the form of your future king and his two protégés Bevis and Butthead. We’ll see how much your daughter loves you when you’re the one slinging the sword instead of me!”

Roger formed a slasher smile on his face as he slowly approached King Arthur Triscloud with the crown of thorns in hand. The elderly ruler struggled and thrashed in his bindings while yelling, “No!” repeatedly. The longest “No!” sounded off like a crack of lightning as Roger wrapped the magical thorns around the king’s head. Every barb and every spike seeped its way into the king’s brain until the last synaptic neuron became Roger’s personal puppet string. Arthur’s eyes glowed a brilliant fiery red while his new master cackled with delight.