Pee-Wee Herman On Crack

VERSE 1

Baldheaded puppets, intestines for strings

They’ll cut off your head, hollow everything

A present for the darkest of dark lord knights

Not bad for a bunch of freaks who look like

Pee-Wee Herman on crack

Never get your serotonin back

Pee-Wee Herman on crack

Childhood is under attack

VERSE 2

They’ll play you a nice little waltz lullaby

Not in hopes you will sleep, but want to die

Infinite loops until your sanity goes bye-bye

Not bad for some monsters who look like

Pee-Wee Herman on meth

Pray for the quickest death

Pee-Wee Herman on drugs

Intestinal noose fits nice and snug

VERSE 3

My guitar is made from puppet strings

When I open my mouth, the demons sing

When I strike the mallet, funeral bells ring

When the puppets dance, you’ll start to think

That they’re Pee-Wee Herman on acid

Schizophrenic voices bring the traffic

Pee-Wee Herman on pills

Getting their bloodthirsty thrills

VERSE 4

When you beat them down, the trauma remains

Making lemonade out of your melting brains

All the Xanax in the world won’t help you now

Neither will the simple phrase, “I disavow”

Pee-Wee Herman on heroin

Cool off your superhero arrogance

Pee-Wee Herman on crack

Once they’re in your mind, there’s no going back

Pee-Wee Herman on crack

Pee-Wee Herman on smack

Pee-Wee Herman unpacked

From a body bag, goodbye to your sack

Food-Mindedness and Body Horror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tales From the Hood 2

MOVIE TITLE: Tales From the Hood 2

DIRECTORS: Rusty Cundieff and Darin Scott

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Horror Anthology

RATING: R for violence, language, sexual content, and political themes

GRADE: Mixed

Master storyteller Mr. Simms is hired by rightwing prison CEO Dumass Beach to give secondhand experience to a police android named Robo Patriot. These stories are designed to help the robot identify threats to America and deal with them appropriately. Instead of giving Beach his confirmation bias, Simms tells stories about the pain racism and sexual harassment have caused throughout the years. Whether the lead characters in these stories are Tinder rapists, mammie doll collectors, wannabe thugs, or black republican politicians, they all will get what’s coming to them in the end. Beach doesn’t like these premises, but live with them he must.

Compared to the first Tales From the Hood movie, this sequel had more cheese than a stuffed crust Domino’s pizza. Whether you agree with the messages in this movie or not, every storytelling device these directors used was so obvious even to the most tone-deaf viewers. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what the prison CEO’s name Dumass Beach is supposed to be a play on words of. The poor acting skills of the white characters didn’t make me believe in the stories, especially the mammie doll collector in the first story. The Robo Patriot sounds like it was haphazardly thrown together at the last minute, not an ounce of creativity left. The CGI effects looked faker than a John Cena pro-wrestling punch. I could have eaten Wendy’s Baconator fries and gotten the same amount of cheese, but no, I had to sit through Tales From the Hood 2 because I thought it could measure up to its 1995 predecessor.

I can’t completely dump all over this movie, though. There is a reason it received a mixed grade from me instead of a failing one. The strong themes of racism are what saved it. Floyd, the museum curator in the first story, delivered his dialogue about the history of black culture in a convincing and educational way. Plus, I loved his evil side near the end (even though he was technically the good guy of the story). In the last story, a group of voodoo sacrifices have to convince a black republican to vote with his heart, not with his wallet. And don’t forget the third story about the Tinder rapists, which is a cautionary tale to end the romanticizing of “boys will be boys”.

Beach’s distasteful reactions to these stories should serve as a reminder of how abundant racism and sexism are in today’s culture. It’s a shame these stories had to be poorly acted by the white characters. The black characters did an excellent job, by the way. I’m not trying to be a “reverse racist” when I say that. I’m just calling it like I see it. The black actors most likely experienced overt racism during their lives, so they bring that into their acting gigs and it sounds more authentic. I was disappointed with Zoe’s performance, though. She sounded just as unconvincing as her white friends.

I can understand the hate this movie gets online, but it’s not as bad as I was anticipating it to be. It had its good moments along with its hokey ones. And yes, it didn’t live up to the bar the previous Tales Form the Hood movie set. I get that. Even Mr. Simms’s “Welcome to Hell!” line sounded forced, like the directors were trying to recapture that old glory of Clarence Williams’s version of Simms in the first movie. But like I said before, this movie gets a mixed reception from me, not a negative one. But would I want to watch it again? Maybe if I was a robot during an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Thurgood

PLAY TITLE: Thurgood

PLAYWRIGHT: George Stevens, Jr.

OPENING YEAR: 2006

GENRE: Historical One-Man Show

MATURE CONTENT: Racial Slurs

GRADE: Extra Credit

Thurgood Marshall reflects on his life from impoverished beginnings to becoming a well-known civil rights activist and Supreme Court justice. His budding wisdom was needed more than ever since he grew up during the Jim Crow era, when racism against black Americans came in the form of lynching, segregation, and an instilled feeling of inferiority. Through poignant debating skills, tireless research, and undying commitment to his cause, Thurgood Marshall paved the way for younger generations of black Americans by giving them a sense of pride and urgency. They need it now more than ever in the wake of Trump’s presidency, police brutality, and the rise of the alternative right.

I saw this play on February 25^th, 2018 and the actor who played Thurgood was spot-on in his performance that afternoon. He spoke with candid authority, undying passion, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. When he said that the law will be his only weapon, you believed him, not just because of beforehand research, but because it felt organic coming out of this actor’s mouth. There were a few times when he stumbled over his words, but he was able to pick himself back up and keep going with his oratory as if nothing slowed him down. Even if you had the attention span of a five year old, you’d still be laser focused on this one-man show.

The actor’s body language was every bit as poignant as his debating skills and speech patterns. He recalled one time when he worked as a waiter in a predominantly white café. The way he served his racist customer’s food and danced around all smiles was the perfect mask for hiding his anger on the inside. He knew being constantly called the N-word was wrong, but he put up with it because he was getting twenty dollar tips during a time when he was flat broke. It wasn’t until after being fired by his black boss that he realized there were more important things in this world than money. That’s a lesson we all need to learn if we’re to move forward. If you’re not paying attention to this lesson, you’re already waiting to be screwed.

But even the Murphy’s Law-style life story and emotional acting couldn’t prepare me for the doll comparison angle. When arguing against segregation, Thurgood had two dolls on the bench: a white doll and a black doll. He recalled research where he asked children questions like, “Which doll would you like to play with?”, “Which doll is better looking?” and “Which doll is evil?” The black children answered positively for the white doll and negatively for the black doll. That broke my goddamn heart. Taking self-esteem away from children no matter what color is disgusting as hell. But without this heart-wrenching scene, Thurgood wouldn’t have been able to make a strong case against Plessey vs. Ferguson. It hurts. It hurts badly. But it’s a truth that we all must be exposed to if we are to make progress. This part of the story was executed perfectly.

We need this kind of peak-performance acting in today’s far-right society. We need this kind of inspiration. We need this kind of message. I have no idea when this one-man play will be performed again, but if your city is hosting it, go see it without missing a beat. Even for those who are already on the correct side of history, your eyes will be opened much wider than before. Thurgood Marshall did a lot for this country, but we still have a long way to go until we reach perfect harmony. An extra credit grade will go to this excellently-acted show with an undeniable message.

My Dinosaur

SOBBING DIALOGUE

My dinosaur! X4

VERSE 1

You took away all my toys

The only things to fill the void

The only things to cure boredom

Anything to restore your order

You smashed my Legos to bits

Stomped my videogames to shit

Popped the heads off my dolls

Do you have a heart at all?

CHORUS

Give me back what’s mine!

I’ll be a good boy this time!

I’ll get the very best grades!

I know how to fucking behave!

Don’t tell me to act my age!

Or I’ll unleash my inner rage!

They’ll have to lock me in a cage!

All I wanted to do was play!

SOBBING DIALOGUE

My dinosaur! X2

VERSE 2

What does this punishment prove?

That your authority is always true?

That the skies aren’t always blue?

Creativity wasn’t meant to bloom?

I don’t need the fucking rubber room

You need your own fucking tomb

You burned my whole toy collection

I’ll cut your giant ass into sections

CHORUS

Give me back what’s mine!

I’ll be a good boy this time!

I’ll get the very best grades!

I know how to fucking behave!

Don’t tell me to act my age!

Or I’ll unleash my inner rage!

They’ll have to lock me in a cage!

All I wanted to do was play!

SOBBING DIALOGUE

My dinosaur! X2

VERSE 3

I don’t owe society shit

It isn’t me throwing a fit

Playtime will forever be mine

Don’t care about falling in line

Don’t care about responsibilities

Or even employable abilities

Starting over with my own toys

Won’t wait for Christmas joys

FINAL BRIDGE

Give me my dinosaur!

I won’t wait anymore!

Life doesn’t have to bore!

Give me my dinosaur before I beat it out of you!