Flip the Kill Switch

VERSE 1

Story after story about violence so gory

It ain’t Hollywood glory, the nations are warring

Bright and early morning, air raid sirens give the warning

The napalm is pouring, children sleep without snoring

I get it all for free on my pretty little screen

I hear the little “DING!”, now I want to fucking scream

He says, “There’s no such thing as pain and suffering”

What the hell does that mean? Aren’t you watching them bleed?!

 

CHORUS 1

Turn it off! Can’t take anymore!

Turn it off! Don’t want to hear about war!

Take the screen and throw it like a son of a bitch!

Hurry up and end it! Flip the kill switch!

 

VERSE 2

Post after post of self-deprecating roasts

What they want the most is to be floating ghosts

Standing so close to the edge with the rope

It’s not a gallows joke, there really is no hope

I try to talk some sense to the ones who crave death

Don’t even ride the fence, it ain’t worth it in the end

He says, “If I up and went, I won’t have to pay the rent”

Are you fucked up in the head? No one wants to see you dead!

 

CHORUS 2

Turn it off! Can’t take anymore!

Turn it off! What’d you do that for?!

Take the screen and wake you up from the ditch!

Take your torture machine and flip the kill switch!

 

BRIDGE

Look around you, we’ve got so much in common

None of our lives turned out the way we wanted

Big dreams of a world where we keep the good times rolling

Lost forever to what we call doom-scrolling

Autism Burnout Video Playlist

 Well…I nuked my Twitter account…and Face Book refuses to promote You Tube videos…so I decided to make a nice blog post of what I like to call my Autism Burnout Video Playlist. Maybe if you’re burned out in some way, you can use these videos to get you through that as well. Here we go:

1. Reads with Rachel roasting Cassandra Claire over her plagiarism accusations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9ZbqClnLNE

2. Vaush responding to Keir Starmer’s comments about J.K. Rowling: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZ2Xohvf-PA

3. Shark3ozero roasting a Tik Toker who disrespects human remains: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rx-gnoGxs_Y

4. Ginny Di writes a one-off D&D horror campaign: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3I4ZPbUhP0

5. The Take analyzing Elon Musk’s ownership of Twitter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3NO1laalXI

6. iilluminaughtii exposing Girls Gone Wild’s sex crimes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2uNYBD2nPg

Happy watching!

Social Media Vacation

Hey, everyone. Starting tonight, I’m going to take a two-week vacation from social media. This includes Good Reads, Deviant Art, Face Book, Twitter, and You Tube. I’m hoping this will help recalibrate me after spending so much time doom-scrolling and consuming horrible news. If it’s affecting my mental health in the way I think it is, then two weeks away will be sufficient. When I eventually return, I’m probably going to have an ass-ton of notifications on all of my sites. I won’t be able to answer them all if that’s the case. Thanks for understanding and I’ll see you again on July 18th. Until then, take care, everyone.

Jealousy

***JEALOUSY***

In the age of social media, it’s easier than ever to compare and contrast yourself to other people. When you see one of your friends on Face Book getting married, you wonder why it’s not happening to you. When you see a Deviant Art buddy getting an ass-load of faves, you wonder why you don’t have any at all, let alone any views. When you see a Good Reads author achieve an average rating of 4:5 stars on one of their novels, you wonder why yours is below the 3.0 mark. The more we subject ourselves to this kind of comparative thinking, the more depressed we become. The easy solution would be to just stop comparing your life progress to your friends.

In the words of whoever sang the theme to Kingdom Hearts, “I don’t think life is quite that simple.” In the writing world, jealousy works both ways. I’ve had authors be jealous of me and I’ve been jealous of other authors. It’s perfectly natural to feel this way as long as it doesn’t consume you and turn you against the people you love. But that’s the thing: it is all consuming. It does eat away at the soul. I even have examples from my own life to prove this.

There are plenty of reasons to be jealous of another writer, but the one thing I envy above all others is the ability to write god knows how many words in the span of one day. Or one hour. Or half an hour. Or fifteen minutes. I get on Face Book all the time and see that this author is bragging about writing fifty thousand words in the span of a week, thus completing their novel. This author I speak of has an ass-load of books to their name too, each with high ratings on Good Reads and Amazon, so it’s not like any of this hard work is going to waste. Me? I consider myself lucky if I’m in the mental state to write a five-paragraph review for a forty page book. My foggy state of mind is a constant source of ire for me, so when I see other authors pumping out novels like hotcakes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

And then there were times when other authors were jealous of me (I can’t imagine why). Those who have followed me on social media for a long time know that I like to write blog entries about vacations I’m going on or rock concerts I’m attending. Last year in 2018, I’ve been to eight different concerts. This year, I’ve already seen three and I have four more in the future. And yes, I’m as braggadocios as the Face Book author who boasts about writing a gazillion words in three days, or whatever the statistic was. Going to rock concerts is something not everyone can afford to do on a regular basis, whether it has to do with work/school schedules, family emergencies, physical disabilities, or just not having enough money for it. So I’m going to try my damnedest to keep my concert talk to a minimum. I’ll still post them as life events on Face Book, but that’s all you’ll get from me.

While it is natural to feel jealous of other people in your life, the one thing you should never wish for is to swap lives with your friends or family. The one thing we all have in common is our pain. When you ask to swap lives with someone you’re jealous of, you take the bad with the good. Suppose you’re jealous of a friend who got married during a seven day trip at Universal Studios. That sounds like a shit-load of fun, but there’s a whole lot going on with that person that you don’t know about. He could be depressed and hiding it really well. He could have mountains of college debt. He could be a pariah in his neighborhood. Just because you see the best version of another person on social media, doesn’t mean you should wish for his life. Everyone has their pain and we all deal with it in our own unique way.

I don’t talk about my personal pain a lot on social media, so when I do it this time around, I hope it’ll ease some of the jealousy you have of my concerts, vacations, or whatever else is going on. You all know by now that I’m schizophrenic, overweight, and constantly tired all the time, right? Now here are some things you probably don’t know. I’ve been unemployed all of my life (except for volunteer work). My mother is having severe mobility issues and needs a walker to get around. I don’t know how to drive a car nor do I own one myself, so I’m confined to my bedroom most of the time. I’m painfully shy in big social situations, so my friends in this town are few and far between. My brother is dealing with bipolar disorder and had a few breakdowns recently. Okay, that’s enough for now. This isn’t a pain contest, but you get what I’m saying. You don’t want my life and I don’t want yours. We all have our own stories to tell and our own destinies going forward. Let it be that way.

If you’re going to be jealous of another person, don’t let it consume your life. The one thing authors need to remember is that we’re one big family who helps each other during the toughest times. This isn’t a competitive field. This is a tag team main event. That’s why I didn’t use names when I gave examples of jealousy, because those people are my friends through and through and I don’t want to paint them in a negative light. We can get shit done together if we put our minds to it. What’s that I always say at the end of my blog entries? Oh yeah, it’s…even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You’re giving me too many things. Lately, you’re all I need. You smiled at me and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but does that mean I have to meet your father?” When we are older, you’ll understand what I meant when I said, “No, I don’t think life is quite that simple.” The daily things that keep us all busy are confusing me. That’s when you came to me and said, “Wish I could prove I love you, but does that mean I have to walk on water?” When we are older, you’ll understand it’s enough when I say so. And maybe some things are that simple. When you walk away, you don’t hear me say, “Please! Oh baby, don’t go!” Simple and clean is the way that you’re making me feel tonight. It’s hard to let it go. Hold me. Whatever lies beyond this morning is a little later on. Regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at all. Nothing’s like before.”

-“Simple and Clean” from Kingdom Hearts-

Keyboard Cops

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 1

When you were eighteen

And you were edgy

You joke on Twitter

Now you’re in the shitter

Joke on Face Book

Like an internet crook

If you get flamed

Then you are to blame

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 2

You joke about this guy

You joke about that guy

You joke about the shit

Everybody throws a fit

You joke about death

About the final breath

You joke about things

That make people sting

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 3

Nobody’s going to give you a break

They’ll just call you a snowflake

They’ll just call you a mistake

To see how much you can take

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 4

Why did they have to act so mean

Behind the glow of a computer screen?

Born to roast like the chick from Wendy’s

You’ve got nothing left worth defending

I know sometimes you want to give up

I know sometimes you’ve gone and fucked up

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

NARRATOR

Keyboard Cops is filmed on location with the boys and girls of the internet. All suspects are guilty until they apologize profusely and even then it won’t be enough.

Why I Post My Works Online

***WHY I POST MY WORKS ONLINE***

As a published author who wants to make money off of my work, it would seem counterintuitive to post my writing online for the public so they can read it for free. It’s the old Napster argument all over again. Why spend money on an album/book/movie when you can have it for free? Will you buy the whole thing if you like bits and pieces of the medium? Some would argue this is a great marketing tool for anybody who doesn’t have the corporate machine backing them. Case in point, rapper Immortal Technique.

At the end of the day, I don’t do it for the marketing. I could be doing it for the constructive feedback and although it’s nice to have it, it’s also not the main reason why I post online. In order to understand why I do this, we have to use the Napster example yet again. Two words: free storage. That’s right. Why would I want to pay X number of dollars to store my writing and art when Deviant Art and Face Book will do it for free? These public forums are hardly my only means of storage since I have three flash drives and also use my email accounts to store my shit. Maybe I’m just paranoid about keeping my art safe.

Just think of how badly it would suck if a project you worked on for years, maybe even decades, was suddenly erased by bullshit means. I take that same approach to my own art and back it up in as many ways as I can. Deviant Art, Face Book, Blogger, Good Reads, Wattpad, god knows what else. But the biggest drawback to this is that if I have to edit a piece of writing for a small error of some kind, that means I have to visit all of those sites and make that change. And then I find another small error. And another. And I have to visit those sites over and over again. Ultimately, I pick my battles and only edit my works on Deviant Art and Wattpad. Besides, I still have my email addresses and flash drives, so it’s not a huge deal.

I don’t have a whole lot to say aside from that. Goddamn, I really didn’t think this blog through, did I? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ve been mad for fucking years. Absolutely years. Been over the edge for yonks. Been working my buns off for bands. I’ve always been mad. I know I’ve been mad. Like most of us, it’s very hard to explain why you’re mad, even when you’re not mad.”

-Dialogue from “Speak to Me” by Pink Floyd-

Face Book Short Takes

Per the encouragement of my awesome Port Orchard friend Anna Bradshaw, here’s a compilation of all the funny short takes I’ve posted on Face Book. Enjoy!

EVANESCENCE DREAM:

I haven’t been remembering a lot of my trips to the subconscious theater lately since they involved competitions of some kind (I never remember those for some reason). I do however remember pretty much all of my concert dreams. Last night was no exception. This time I saw Evanescence play a show in an abandoned bank in the middle of nowhere. Amy Lee and her new band mates were all fifty years old. I repeat, between the release of Evanescence’s first album and this dream, Amy Lee became…fifty years old. She had gray hair, wrinkly skin, Marlboro lines in her face, and she was wearing a pants suit like she was running for office. This whole time I kept asking, “What the fuck’s going on here?!” Thank god I woke up when I did. But yes, it’s true, ladies and gentlemen: as of today, Amy Lee is only fourteen years away from celebrating her fiftieth birthday. Let that sink in for a minute and then you can slowly realize it beats the alternative.

CONCERT CO-HEADLINERS:

Because I was too zonked out today to get any real work done, I made a list of bands I haven’t seen perform live yet and paired them together as fantasy co-headliners. I tried to have the pairings make as much sense as possible. Live Nation? Make them happen!

1. 3 Doors Down X Crossfade
2. David Gilmour X Martin Kesici
3. Gemini Syndrome X From Ashes to New
4. Ghost X Babymetal
5. Hellyeah X All That Remains
6. Killer Be Killed X Down
7. Limp Bizkit X Bloodhound Gang
8. Sepultura X Sworn In
9. Serj Tankian X Tarja Turunen
10. Within Temptation X The Dark Element

BATHROOM BREAKS:

Here’s something I’ve always wondered, but never got an answer to. Why is it whenever you’re talking to someone online and you tell them you have to go to the bathroom, they always think you’re looking for an excuse to get away from the computer? Would they rather you soil yourself? Would they rather you wear a diaper at the computer? I don’t know about you guys, but sitting in my own biological sludge isn’t worth maintaining a conversation with someone. It stinks. It stinks very badly. I know this because my elderly dog Maggie shits and pisses all the time and I’m usually the one who wipes it off the floor. Whenever I tell you I need to go to the bathroom, believe me. This is especially important to me after I have a whole pitcher of iced tea to drink….or two…or three. That’s a lot of urine, more than Smokey’s litter box allows. So yes, I’m going to need a non-diapered bathroom break every once and a while. Deal with it.

FIFTY SHADES JOKES:

If you surf You Tube a lot like I do, you’ll eventually watch a few less-than-romantic videos and some wiseass in the comments section will say, “Still a better love story than Twilight.” Well, I’ve never read Twilight, so I can’t say for certain, but I have read its fan fiction predecessor Fifty Shades of Grey. I gave that book three out of five stars (mixed grade), but now that I have the benefit of hindsight, it deserved less. Much less! So that got me thinking: what are the most extreme, fringiest examples of movies or books that are better love stories than Fifty Shades of Grey? In the interest of bad taste, I’ve actually compiled a list for you so that you don’t have to. Starting with…

1. A Serbian Film
2. Boston Public (stalker episode)
3. Different Strokes (bike shop episode)
4. Fatal Attraction
5. Millennium (A Room with No View)
6. NCIS (Bete Noir)
7. NCIS: Los Angeles (An Unlocked Mind)
8. Pink Floyd the Wall (“Don’t Leave Me Now”)
9. Pulp Fiction (pawn shop scene)
10. Savages (Blake Lively’s captivity)
11. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi (slave Leia scene)
12. Suicide Squad (Joker X Harley Quinn)
13. Tales From the Hood (spinning table scene)
14. Team America: World Police (scat fetish scene)
15. The Shield (David Aceveda blowjob scene)
16. Through the Shattered Glass by Jeanie Clarke (marriage to Stone Cold Steve Austin)

With a virtual cornucopia of extreme examples, I want you to think carefully the next time you make a Fifty Shades joke. Let’s say you decide The Shield is more romantic. You’re basically saying that you’d rather get orally raped by a Mexican gangster than have a bondage romance with Christian Grey. I know, I know, you desperately want to put those things on the same level, but trust me, you’re exercising your hyperbole muscles when venturing into this territory.

BLACK TEA:

In all this time of drinking iced tea, I’ve always thought black tea had a negligible amount of caffeine. I can’t stress the word negligible enough. Turns out it’s one tier below coffee and I’m just now paying the price for drinking entire pitchers of black tea. Caffeine and schizophrenia is a fucking horrible combination. Plus, there must have been some reason why I kept waking up at ten in the morning despite going to bed late at night. If you don’t see any creative work from me for a while, it’s because the black tea caffeine is working its way out of my system and I’m constantly in beddy-bye with Smokey. I can’t concentrate if I’m perpetually sleepy. It probably doesn’t help matters that I’m constantly listening to “True” by Spandau Ballet and having romantic (not sexual) thoughts while doing so. Negligible, my ass!

CHEERIOS AND SOCCER:

When I was a nine-year-old preparing to play in a soccer game, I wanted to eat a bowl of Cheerios before the match, because…and I quote directly from the tube…they had “Morning power! Kid power! Go power!” James laughed his ass off at that while I was having a hard time undoing the brainwashing of television advertising. Truth is, Cheerios won’t help you win a soccer match. As a matter of fact, my team and I, the lovable losers known as The Thunder Eagles, got our asses handed to us like a bunch of jobbers. Drinking warm Gatorade didn’t help me win either. It gave me some cardio, but not a victory. I could have eaten a hot fudge sundae and had the same results. Is it any wonder why I didn’t want to shake the other team’s hands afterwards? Participation trophy, my ass!

BABY INITIALS:

I’m too zonked out today to get any real work done other than build a few of my birthday Legos. So instead I’m going to have some fun with potential kid names (even though I still haven’t any plans to father children). Tonight we’re going to look at initials, excluding the T in Temons and keeping the H in Haines (assuming initials are only supposed to have three letters). Ready? I sure am.

1. Grant Thomas Haines-Temons (GTH (Go to Hell))
2. Heath Edgar Haines-Temons (HEH)
3. Hunter Hearst Haines-Temons (HHH (Triple H))
4. Ivan Cody Haines-Temons (ICH)
5. Marcus Edge Haines-Temons (MEH)
6. Neville Alexander Haines-Temons (NAH)
7. Roger Owen Haines-Temons (ROH (Ring of Honor))
8. Samuel Mitchell Haines-Temons (SMH (Shaking My Head))
9. Tucker Oliver Haines-Temons (TOH (Treehouse of Horror))
10. Uriah Garrison Haines-Temons (UGH)
11. Walter Travis Haines-Temons (WTH (What the Hell?))

That’s all I can come up with for now. Happy Father’s Day!

COUPLES:

Here’s something I’ve often wondered, but never got a definitive answer to. Why is it whenever I go out in public with someone, everybody thinks we’re a couple? I’ve had people assume me and my brother James to be a gay couple, especially when we have Reina in tow. Hell, I’ve had a massage therapist in Hawaii assume that me and Aunt Ruth were a couple. You’ve got to have Ray Charles vision in order to fuck that one up. This isn’t Game of Thrones, people. My family tree actually forks. If it didn’t, then according to Jeff Foxworthy, I might be a redneck. Actually, my neck is red anyways since I go out for long distance walks in eighty degree heat, but that’s beside the point. Back to the topic at hand, it would be REALLY fucking disastrous if someone thought me and Reina were a couple. And while we’re at it, why don’t we just assume that people walking their dogs are in bestiality relationships. Good god almighty!

CREATIVE NONFICTION IS REAL, DAMN IT!:

When I was taking a nonfiction creative writing class in 2009, I overheard some kid questioning whether or not the words “creative” and “nonfiction” belong in the same sentence together. His major talking point was that since the memories are real and nothing is made up, it can’t be creative. The counterpoint to his argument was that the author still had to tell a story, which means the same rules as fictional writing still apply whether it’s showing vs. telling, being a reliable narrator, using colorful descriptions, dictating a desirable pace, using correct grammar, etc. No matter how many times the kid was proven wrong, he just kept insisting that there’s no such thing as creative nonfiction. It was like talking to a brick wall. Actually, the brick wall would have a higher IQ. Roger Waters seems to agree since he built one out of his own insecurities and made a classic rock album out of it with his Pink Floyd mates. See? I told you creative nonfiction was real!

DANIEL BRYAN X PAIGE:

Another weird ass goddamn dream from last night? Sure, why not? This one is WWE themed as it involved Smackdown wrestler Daniel Bryan and Smackdown General Manager Paige. Both of them were kidnapped by a religious cult after yesterday’s show. One of the cult members openly admitted to masturbating to Paige’s leaked sex videos, which naturally made her shiver in disgust. Once the cult’s van got to a high school gymnasium to perform a ritual, they gagged Daniel and Paige with tall Red Bull cans and duct tape. It was up to me and a special team of whoever-the-fucks to raid the gym and rescue the two Smackdown personalities. Daniel was successfully rescued, but Paige was nowhere to be found even as I kept desperately screaming her name. Then I woke up feeling happy for some strange reason, probably because I got a lot of work done last night at one in the morning (blogging Escape From Chehalis, writing Because of You, and reading chapter three of The Savior’s Champion). Although that might not be the official reason for my happiness, I chose not to question the source and actually let myself have a good day today.

DISTURBING NAPTIME MUSIC:

As someone who likes good music and good naps, I can tell you now that there’s nothing depraved about falling asleep to “She Don’t Want the World” by 3 Doors Down. The lyrics are disturbing as fuck, but the music is soothing enough to cure insomnia. Same thing goes with “Out of Hell” by In This Moment, a gentle piano melody with…questionable content. Not once have I fallen asleep to these songs and had a horrible nightmare afterwards. Most of my dreams are about school, concerts, and occasionally Unitarian churches (I used to go to those as a kid and a teenager, but not anymore). Last night’s trip to the subconscious was about me actually WANTING to go to school, so I signed up for a creative writing class and a gym course. Normally Roger Waters and I would agree when it comes to crappy school experiences, but this time, I actually wanted to go. Huh. Weird shit.

JAPANESE RESTAURANT:

It’s day three of zombie brain BS, so the most you’re going to get from me today is a post about a weird ass dream I had last night. Or as I like to call it, a trip into the subconscious theater. The dream opened with me getting a report card from college: two Ds and one F. I was so fucking pissed that I threw my report card in the garbage and went on a hissy-fit rampage in front of my teachers. To calm me down, one of the teachers suggested that I find a job at the Japanese restaurant on campus. When I started working there, the TVs at the sushi bar were playing Isle of Dogs and nobody batted an eye. I changed the channel to WWE and watched Dean Ambrose, Carlito, and Mojo Rawley give a member of The New Day a triple power bomb a la The Shield. I woke up wondering just what the hell happened (what a fucking surprise). Now that I’ve written this dream post, there might be some hope for me yet when it comes to creative work. The question now is, do I want to write a blog entry about Incel Terrorism or Creative Crossroads? Hmm…decisions, decisions…

SPIRO’S FAUX PAS:

As I ate dinner with my brother James at Spiro’s, he introduced me to a new word I apparently should have learned a long time ago: Faux Pas. It comes from the French for “false step” and it’s an idiom for an embarrassing or awkward mistake. Apparently during dinner, I made two Faux Pas that night. One, I ate the entire chocolate topping off of James’s peanut butter pie (which reminded him of the episode of South Park where Eric Cartman eats the crispy skin off of everybody’s KFC meals). The other Faux Pas was when I refused to engage in small talk with our waitress. She asked me if I did anything fun for the fourth of July and I simply said, “No”, prompting James to chuckle awkwardly for some reason. Even though he’s introverted too, he can’t understand why small talk is so difficult for me. All in all, it was a fun way to end our evening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have many more Faux Pas to make.

STUPID HOSE!:

A few years ago, I was out on the back porch trying to get my garden hose to work. I can’t remember if I was watering flowers or cleaning out the rubbish bin, but I needed that hose to work. Much to my frustration, the damn thing wouldn’t spray any water. I tried everything from checking for knots to turning the faucet on. Nothing. Instead of looking for calmer, more rational solutions, I scream, “Come on, you stupid fucking hose, get working!” Little did I know that there were little children getting off school and parents who could have misinterpreted the word “hose” as being spelled H-O-E-S. What a disaster that would have been if someone thought I was a pimp. But I assure you, I’m just a guy who gets pissed off at little things. If you’ve ever wondered why my stories and poems have an angry tone, that’s why. I swear I’m not a pimp. Hehe!

GARRISH:

One day while going out to lunch with my dad and brother, the clerk who made my sandwich called me Garrish instead of Garrison, which my dad attributed to my poor handwriting when I placed my order. Dad and James joked that Garrish sounded like an Eastern European name, but it turns out it’s a real English word, albeit spelled with one R instead of two. Dictionary.com defines it as “tastelessly colorful”, like the Hawaiian shirts I used to wear back in my twenties. You learn something new every day, folks.

INUYASHA, SIT BOY!:

One of my favorite things to watch as a college kid was Inuyasha, but the one thing that always frustrated me about that show was how Kagome could bend Inuyasha to her will by using a “sit” command. Every time she said the magic word, the dog demon would fall flat on his face and become instantly obedient. Well, I think I’ve figured out a solution to that mess. To paraphrase Agent Smith from The Matrix, “What good is a sit command if you’re…unable to speak?” Sorry Kagome, but there are no M’s in the word sit. Hehe!

LIMP BIZKIT:

Whenever I need entertainment in the late hours of the night, I can always count on the subconscious theater to deliver a five star performance. Some might disagree about the five stars in this particular dream, but I don’t. Last night’s dream featured yet another weird ass rock concert, but this time the venue wasn’t in a building that was supposed to be something else like a Chinese restaurant or an art museum. This time the nightclub setting actually made sense. The main act? None other than one of the most hated bands on planet earth, Limp Bizkit. Some of their onstage antics included blowing cigarette smoke out of a desk fan, having a face-to-face screaming match with yours truly, and doing a cover of Metallica’s “St. Anger” (as if they couldn’t be more hated). It was a nice way to wake up for my 33^rd birthday, to say the least. Another nice way to wake up was seeing everybody’s birthday wishes on my Face Book page, so thank you all for that. The rest of my birthday was well-celebrated and now all I want to do is nap with Smokey. Maybe if I nap with her long enough, Limp Bizkit will give me another kick-ass performance.

MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL:

I just looked up the term Manic Pixie Dream Girl on Wikipedia. It’s a literary pejorative for a supporting female character whose main role in the story is to boost the self-esteem of the depressed or brooding male protagonist, thus helping him come out of his shell. Examples include Susanna from “The Way, Way Back”, Sam from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, and to some extent Sophie from “Obselidia”. When it comes to my current work in progress called Silent Warrior, I have strong reasons to believe Adrienne Simpson also falls under this category. Good god, what have I done?!

THE MARINE TEST:

Today’s my second straight day of mental sluggishness, so instead of actual writing, I’ll tell you all about a weird ass dream I had last night. In this episode of the subconscious theater, Mom, Dale, and I were vacationing in Afghanistan. While there, Mom had me apply for a job and as part of my recruitment, I had to take something called The Marine Test. It wasn’t actual military training like one would expect, but a written exam followed by a drawing test. I gave up halfway through it and decided to fly home to America. I called Mom and asked her when she and Dale were coming home. Mom said they were stuck in Israel, so I got even more frustrated. Then when I went out to the driveway, Dale and Mom were pulling in. I woke up wondering what the fuck just happened. The Marine Test? What does that even mean? And why was drawing something part of the exam? I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, but unfortunately, Sigmund Freud is one dead motherfucker and I’m not trained in the art of necromancy. Bummer.

MEET JOE BLOW:

When I was in middle school in the late 90’s, I refused to go on a date with a girl because the movie we were going to see at the theater was Meet Joe Black. I wanted to see either American History X or Rush Hour, but no, it had to be the lovey-dovey Meet Joe Black because it meets the criteria for a “date movie”. Fast forward to 2014 and I realize that anything can be considered a “date movie” no matter what the genre. My now ex-girlfriend and I went to see The Lego Movie and Peabody & Sherman when they came out. Let that sink in for a minute. Still to this day, I haven’t watched Meet Joe Black nor have I desired to. Maybe I’ll research it on Wikipedia and call it a day. Or maybe one of you, my lovely readers, has seen it and can give the Cliff’s Notes version of it.

WHY ARE YOU UP SO LATE?:

I have a question for my fellow night owls. Have you ever been online past midnight and a friend sends you a message asking why you’re up so late? Usually these people live in a time zone far ahead of yours, so they’re technically up much later than you. I swear to god, one night I was online at ten-thirty and someone from the east coast asked me why I was up so late. By my math, that means the guy asking me is staying up until one-thirty in the morning. What is HE doing up so late? I’m not sure what the time difference is between the pacific coast in America and countries from across both oceans, but I’ve gotten the “Why are you up so late?” question from friends over there as well. Technically, I should be going to bed at a reasonable hour since I have sleep apnea and psychological exhaustion is one of the reasons why I don’t write or read every single day. My body says, “Go to bed”, but my mind says, “Fuck no” and wins that battle on a frequent basis. Maybe I just think that listening to music and fucking around on the internet is more entertaining than lying in bed. Perhaps this will answer some of your questions as to what I’m doing up so late, even though technically you’re up much later than I am.

ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE!:

Would someone like to explain to me why I keep hearing the phrase “rock is dead”? Last time I checked, brand new rock and heavy metal albums are still being released to the public. Plus, if you love the old stuff, you can always, I don’t know, go back and listen to it. Music genres don’t just “die out”. People said rap rock was dead in 2001, but you still have bands like Hollywood Undead and From Ashes to New performing in that genre. Hell, there are still people performing classical symphonic music. Lindsey Stirling plays a goddamn violin, for Christ’s sake. Nightwish uses an orchestra for some of their songs. Hell, Evanescence released a symphonic album called Synthesis in 2017. If you have a favorite music genre, don’t give up on it because it’s not “trendy” or “hip”. Trends come and go, but music is forever. It’s the soundtrack of our lives. It’s medicine for the soul. Rock and roll isn’t dead now and it won’t be dead anytime soon. If for some reason it does die out (which it won’t), don’t blame it on young people, because that’s just a cheap copout. Plus, it’s bigoted as fuck. Can’t we all just…enjoy the music?!

TARJA TURUNEN DREAM:

It’s been a while since my last weird ass dream (mostly because I couldn’t remember them in the morning). This one really takes the goddamn cake. I dreamed I was in a long distance relationship with Tarja Turunen. While we’re talking on the phone, she mentions having to be cryogenically frozen until there’s a cure for whatever she has. She also says that because she lives in Philadelphia (she doesn’t in real life) and it’s polluted as hell, kissing her would be the equivalent of drinking hemlock. I tell her that since I live in the Pacific Northwest, kissing me would be the equivalent of kissing Walt Disney (because it’s cold up here and Mr. Disney is frozen). Before we hang up, I make a promise to wait for her until she’s awakened from cryogenic stasis. My mom then tells me that I don’t actually love her and that I’m only crushing on her for “pedestrian reasons”, whatever that means. I woke up with Smokey curled around my head since she’s made a habit out of trying to steal my pillow. Pedestrian reasons?! What?!

THEY’RE JUST FUCKING CLOTHES:

You know how people like to say, “He doesn’t know how to dress himself?” Well, I’ve come up with a little test to see if that’s true. Are you naked? If not, then congratulations, you know how to dress yourself. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing sweatpants, New Romantic style, Goth boots, an Armani suit, or even a Speedo. If you’re clothed, you’re clothed. Hands down. End of story. Although I must admit, if these sweatpants weren’t so damn comfortable already, I wouldn’t mind dressing like a Goth or a New Romantic (despite the fact that it’s no longer the early 1980’s). But as it is, fashion is overrated and clothes are only good for warming up an otherwise naked body.

OVER-THE-TOP NAMES:

Reina and I just had a conversation about unrealistic names in my stories. When it comes to a college drama like Incelbordination, she thinks the names Oswald Crow and Antero Magnus sound too over-the-top and fantasy-like. They sound like they’re about to slay dragons rather than pine over hot chicks. Then there’s Beautiful Monster. Reina was strangely okay with the name Windham Xavier, but she thought the name Shelly Atwood didn’t fit the bill for a gothic seductress. Reina’s grandma is named Shelly. She rests her case. And then there’s Silent Warrior, which features a monstrous puppet teacher that appears in Scott’s dreams. Her name is…drum roll please…Aloysius Striker. As long as she’s relegated to the nightmare role, Reina has no problem with that name. Basically, her rule for naming characters is to have one of the names be fancy and the other be basic. She would have been okay with a name like Oswald Smith and she’s okay with Nikita Johnson. And then I explained to her that Crow was the last name of a pop singer (Sheryl Crow) and an actor (Russell Crowe). She didn’t buy that excuse. Me? I bought it with one hundred percent interest. I plan on showing Reina more of my overly exotic names tomorrow. Right now, it’s time for bed. Goodnight, everyone!

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER WEAPONS:

I have an hour to kill before WWE Monday Night Raw comes on TV, so I’ll use part of it to explain why in my WIP Beautiful Monster, Windham uses a whip and Tarja uses a staff. There’s no Freudian psychology behind either of those choices. Windham isn’t secretly into BDSM or anything like that, but if that’s what you got out of his characterization, I won’t argue with you. The reason I gave Windham Xavier a whip is because Simon Belmont from the Castlevania videogame series had one too. I gave Tarja Rikkinen a wooden staff because Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise had one as well. As long as I’m dispelling Freudian psychology in my weapon choices, Commander Rinehart doesn’t use a punching dagger because he’s secretly into fisting. He uses it for the same reason anybody else would: because it fucking hurts. I shall say no more. I’ve said enough already. Hehe!

Code Breaker

“I’m going to say this for the last fucking time, so take your daddy’s dick out of your ears! I didn’t bully anybody backstage and I didn’t take any shortcuts! Everything I have in my career has been earned! There’s no controversy! There’s no early stoppage or misjudged scorecards or any of that bullshit! You all are just a bunch of whiny snowflakes who commit suicide over the stupidest shit! If someone calls you a doo-doo head on Twitter, you slash your wrists! If someone calls you an SJW on Face Book, you tie the noose! If someone you don’t like shows up on your college campus, you destroy everything like a big fucking baby! I didn’t do shit to those refs and judges, so wipe tears out of your mascara!”

Zoey Davis wouldn’t have bought Marcus McKnight’s press conference speech if his tongue was notarized. She watched the whole thing on her tablet with furrowed eyebrows and clamped teeth. She firmly believed that being an MMA heavyweight like Marcus didn’t entitle him to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Zoey remembered her own locker room experiences in high school. The N-word echoed throughout he brain quicker than having her dreadlocks ripped out. The jokes about her having a visible ribcage were usually followed by racist jocks throwing fried chicken and corn biscuits at her. To Zoey, Marcus McKnight looked and acted just like those dip shits in school…and she was going to do something about it.

With her gray hoodie pulled over her head, Zoey watched the mixed-martial arts pay-per-view from the back of the arena, hardly anybody seated around her. Those who took up real estate close to her were too invested in the cage fights to pay attention to her playing with her tablet. Every knockout punch within the eight-sided wire fence earned a boisterous roar of approval from the audience. Every choke, every dislocation, every head kick, every vicious elbow, they were appetizers to a much larger meal in the form of the main event, featuring Marcus McKnight and an opponent whose Polish name was difficult to pronounce, but easy to make fun of for any xenophobe in attendance.

The thumb stick in Zoey’s tablet picked up a signal from Marcus’s cell phone. He had recently logged onto Twitter and Face Book, using the same password for both accounts. Zoey shook her head and smiled, “This is too fucking easy.” She noticed that Marcus didn’t even bother using numbers and punctuation marks in his passwords, just a series of lowercase letters. “Lazy as fuck,” Zoey grinned as she worked her hacking magic on those accounts.

What to post, what to post, what to post. Zoey swiped through a bevy of embarrassing Photoshop pictures that would look hilarious on Marcus’s social media pages. Which one would hurt him the most? A picture of Marcus sucking off a goat? A picture of him getting sodomized in a clown suit by a horse? How about one of him milking a cow with his yellow-toenailed feet? Oh, why not all of them? She fiddled around on her tablet some more and posted all three of these pictures onto Marcus’s Twitter and Face Book pages. She quickly tucked the tablet away in her hoodie pocket and watched the action with a smile.

She was so busy with her hack job that she didn’t even notice that Marcus McKnight was already making his way to the octagon with the Polish opponent inside. Even from so far away, Zoey could easily see why someone like him would be intimidating to a bullying victim. Seven feet tall, barely cracking the maximum weight limit at two hundred sixty-five pounds, more muscle on his sausage fingers than most people had in their entire bodies, and “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns n’ Roses blasting over the sound system. Zoey crossed her fingers in hopes that he would actually lose his match tonight, but given that the Polish opponent looked like a midget next to him, it was unlikely.

The referee explained to the fighters the rules of the match and already Marcus was in bully mode when he spit a silver glob in his opponent’s mouth. Zoey shivered hard enough to make herself dizzy. If she thought that was sickening, she was in for a real treat when the match started and Marcus threw bloody haymakers at his opponent. With every stone fist that connected, Zoey’s stomach turned as she remembered more bullying from her childhood. She felt her own bones break, her own face get disfigured, her own skin being ripped open like a birthday present of violence. She felt so ill to her stomach that she stuck out her tongue and gasped for air, while everyone around her stood up and cheered at the “delicious” gore.

Zoey secretly wondered if her vigilante hacking would be doing any good to begin with. At the very worst, Marcus could just delete the pictures and change his password to something more secure. She kicked herself for thinking this immature prank was even a good idea. There were evil corporations and governments in the world that needed to be brought down and she chose to use her skills on one backstage bully in a world swarming with them. One guy could get humiliated and there would be more Marcus McKnights waiting in the wings. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tucked her face in her lap.

And then she heard the drunken choir around her chanting, “Goat fucker! Goat fucker! Goat fucker!” Zoey lifted her wet face and saw that people in attendance were looking at their phones and laughing their asses off. It was at that moment she remembered the old adage of whatever was on the internet was there forever. She smiled and wiped away her tears as the chants continued. Hell, she even stood up herself and chanted along with them with her fist pumping in the air.

Marcus’s bruised ego was more obvious than the bruises on his opponent’s hamburger face. He kept yelling, “Shut the fuck up!” to the crowd and missing wildly with his punches. Meanwhile, the Polish fighter, as bloody and swollen as he was, threw some punches of his own and even landed a nice head kick, which staggered Marcus backwards against the cage. Zoey stood on her sneaker-wearing tippy-toes and cheered wildly as Marcus was getting his comeuppance.

The raucous taunting turned to dead silence when Marcus’s answer to his opponent’s offence was a head-splitting elbow to the side of the face. Blood squirted out of the brand new orifice as the fighter flopped to the ground unconscious and the ref waved the match off, awarding the victory to Marcus McKnight.

“No…no…no, this can’t be happening,” Zoey whispered to herself with wide eyes. She pulled her hood back and grabbed her fuzzy hair in disbelief. All that taunting did was anger Marcus to where he nearly killed his opponent. He had never hit an opponent that hard before, not even in victory. “This is all my fault…” the hacktivist whimpered. These were the same words she used in high school whenever she got clocked by smaller bullies, thinking she could easily take them with her six foot stance. Zoey pounded the sides of her head in a feeble attempt to exorcise these traumatic ghosts from her mind.

She felt a meaty hand clamp down on her shoulder along with the word “Ma’am!” shouted in her ear. Zoey slowly turned around and saw a chubby security guard with a bald head and sunglasses standing over her, menacing stare and all. “You’re in a lot of trouble, ma’am. You need to come with me peacefully. And hand over that tablet you got in your hoodie. I ain’t joking around, baby girl!”

Zoey would be damned if she let another traumatic vision flood her mind for the rest of her life. This guy easily had two hundred pounds of meat in his tale of the tape and he could snap her in two just like that. If she handed over the tablet, it would all be over for her. When she realized it was over the day she left high school, she formed a nasty frown on her face, pulled out the tablet, and smashed it against the security guard’s jowly face.

The glass from the tablet shredded a few pounds from the guard’s face, causing him to drip all over the arena steps like a running faucet. Any last shred of evidence that Zoey hacked Marcus McKnight’s accounts was little more than computer dust on the floor, mixing perfectly with human blood. Zoey hopped over the barricade when she saw more security guards chasing after her.

Zoey’s lightning quickness on her feet was an afterthought when security guards seemed to pour in from every exit she had. Turned to the right, a pack of Shrek clones in blue shirts. Turned to the left, a flood of human protoplasm flooding her direction. The drunken lard asses in the crowd didn’t help much either as she tried to squeeze past them. With no other exit aside from the cage itself, Zoey Davis’s adrenaline boost clouded her judgment and caused her to scale the cage quicker than a squirrel up a tree.

Greasy blond haired Marcus raised his arms in the air, stuck his tongue out, and taunted her with “snowflake” insults and middle fingers. Ordinarily, Zoey would freeze up like the very insult she was being berated with. Up close, Marcus had the height of a skyscraper, the strength of a brick wall, and the screaming volume of a marine corps drill instructor all rolled into one. Being next to him would make even the bravest of men wet themselves in a biblical flood.

Not Zoey. Not anymore. She screamed, “Take this, you goat fucker!” before planting both of her rubber soles against Marcus’s crotch, doubling him over  and eventually leaving him beached like a smelly whale corpse. Even with the referee and the security guards grabbing her by the arms and legs, even with no visible exit anywhere in the building, even with decades of prison ahead of her, Zoey felt free at last. The adrenaline boost cleansed her mind of all negative voices and any remaining were drowned out with crowd chants of “Goat fucker! Goat fucker! Goat fucker!”

“Was it worth it, you little shit?” spat one of the beefy security guards. “Was it fucking worth it?”

“Bitch, you’ve got no clue!” said Zoey with a wicked grin on her face. Even while laying on her back and being dragged out across the beer-soaked floor, she stood tall against those who oppressed her and people like her. Could one bold move spark a revolution? Could hacking skills really make that big of a difference? Zoey didn’t know and didn’t give a damn at this point. Prison or not, she was free.

Every Pic You Post

(In the style of “Every Breath You Take” by The Police.)

Every pic you post

Every friend you poke

Every meme you share

Every feeling you bear

I’ll be browsing you

Every single day

Every app you play

Every Face Book page

Every rant you rage

I’ll be browsing you

I can’t refrain

You’re in the public domain

How vicariously I live

With every like you give

Every video you film

Every bean you spill

Every life event thrill

Every second you kill

I’ll be browsing you

Since you’re here, I’ll look you up with no remorse

You’re already in the public eye, of course

There’s nothing they can do in the police force

There’s no sense in taking my big ass to court

I’ll browse whoever I goddamn well please!

I can’t refrain

You’re in the public domain

How vicariously I live

With every like you give

Every video you film

Every bean you spill

Every life event thrill

Every second you kill

I’ll be browsing you

Debating

***DEBATING***

Even though I post a lot of short stories with controversial topics and post John Oliver videos on my Face Book page, I actually don’t like debating that much. I agree with the idea of being open to new ideas and not being completely coddled from the opposing side. However, if someone tries to engage me in a debate, the most talking points I’ll ever have in that conversation is…maybe two. After those talking points are on the table, I have nothing left and I’m completely vulnerable to the limitless number of talking points the other guy has. Being on this jobber losing streak in a debate has nothing to do with the fact that I’m right or wrong. It just means that I don’t have an unlimited number of talking points. I suppose I could cure that with extensive research, but that only adds maybe two or three more talking points to the already short list.

It didn’t dawn on me just how bad my debating skills were until I moved into my dorm room at Western Washington University in 2007. I had a roommate named Carl who was always helpful to me and an all around nice guy. However, when he tried to engage me in a debate, I would sit there in silence not knowing how to answer his talking points. Carl described himself as a “conservative with a strong liberal twist”, but most of his talking points were right-leaning in nature. He’d present all of these carefully-worded arguments that went on for about a minute or a minute and a half and it always drove me nuts that I couldn’t debunk all of them.

So whenever I hear somebody talk about open-mindedness, I always tell them it’s a two way street. In other words, if you want me to be open to your viewpoints, you have to be open to mine. But that’s the problem: my viewpoints only have a lifespan of one burst of alphabet soup. After that, it’s over. I’m like a bottle rocket when it comes to debating, which is why I avoid it most of the time.

Of course, there’s another reason why I avoid debates and it’s because I have this fear of offending my best friends by justifying the things they hate. It’s the reason why I don’t wave a Richard Dawkins book in the face of one of my Christian friends. Not only is it offensive to do, but it could kill the friendship. I put love and friendship before politics and religion every single time. If somebody gives me a ride when I need one or cooks me a nice meal or gives me twenty bucks to buy my favorite book, why should it matter what side of the political spectrum they’re on? Of course, I wouldn’t accept a million dollars from Donald Trump, but that’s because…well…he’s Donald Trump. But you get what I’m saying, right?

So if you see me back out of an argument, it’s not because I’m closing myself off to that person. It’s because unlike that person, I can’t keep talking forever and ever and ever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch some more John Oliver videos and chase them down with a rant by Immortal Technique about vegetarianism. Peace! I’m out!

***SWAMPLANDIA***

As many of you have noticed either from my Deviant Art journals or my Good Reads account, I’ve been chipping away at “Swamplandia” by Karen Russell for a little under two months now. According to my Good Reads account, I’m 83% done with it, which means I’m going to spend one day blowing through the rest of it. Even though I’m not finished with it yet, I’ve already decided that it’s going to receive a mixed grade (three stars) when I review it. The concept is great, the depressing themes are great, and even the idea of a World of Darkness theme part ignites the dark fantasy passion within me. But what gives it a three star rating is the pacing. It’s slow enough to tire my eyes out after five or six pages of reading. I don’t know what exactly to owe the pacing to, but it’s definitely a slow one and that would explain why I’ve spent so much time with this book. That and it’s 400 pages long.

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

JERRY LAWLER: If Emma was a vegetable, she’d be a cute-cumber.

MAURO RANALLO: The world is pun-derful and I’m glad you agree, King.

Dark Prophecy

“You wanted to see me?” said Charlie Marks, a leather jacket and jeans wearing high schooler who was too cool for school. Judging from his lackadaisical posture and bored facial expression, he felt he was too cool to be in the same office as his art teacher.

“Yes, Charlie, I did want to see you. Have a seat. Don’t get too comfortable, because this has suspension written all over it,” said Rebecca Waters, a brown dress wearing blonde who sat cross-legged in her office’s computer chair with the posture of a judge presiding over a criminal court case.

When Charlie took a seat on the wooden stool and twiddled his thumbs nonchalantly, Rebecca pored through her file folder until she found the piece of “art” that brought the two of them together that day. It was a cartoon of a distorted faced Special Olympian dressed in a bicycle helmet and a dirty diaper. If that wasn’t offensive enough, the caption of the drawing said, “The Prophet Muhammad” in big bold letters.

Charlie took the drawing from Rebecca’s hands and stared at it uncaringly. “Yeah, so?”

“What do you mean, yeah, so? You know full well why that’s unacceptable. Not only is it disparaging to the mentally disabled, but it’s extremely disparaging to the Muslim community. There are over five hundred Muslim students who attend this high school. What do you think they’re going to do if they see this drawing?” said Rebecca in an authoritative voice.

The “artist” pretended to look at his drawing from multiple angles, but he was really just turning his paper upside down and sideways to stall for time. When Rebecca asked an impatient, “Well?”, Charlie responded with, “They’re probably going to strap bombs to their bodies and blow me into pieces. Is that the answer you were looking for? Are you actually worried about this kind of crap going on? You say there’s five hundred Muslims going to school here? I bet not one of them has the balls to take me on over a stupid drawing. Ever heard of Freedom of Speech, Miss Waters?”

Rebecca shook her head no, cleared her throat, and said, “Listen, Charlie. There’ve been plenty of awful things going on in the news lately with terrorism and general ignorance toward certain people. Remember hearing about the ISIS attacks in Paris a few weeks ago? Of course you don’t, because you’re not smart enough to pay attention to world politics. If you were, you would know that this ‘funny’ cartoon is the highest form of prejudice toward the Muslim community. I’m not worried about what the students will do to you. Because let’s face it, none of our students act anywhere near as badly as the ISIS terrorists who committed that awful attack in Paris.”

“Well then, what are you worried about, Miss Waters? What, is ISIS going to raid our stupid little school and start shooting everyone in sight because I drew a cartoon? Don’t they have better things to do with their lives? Newsflash: those crazies halfway around the world don’t give a shit about Paulson City kids like me!” said Charlie Marks in a more animated voice complete with frantic hand gestures.

Rebecca hunched forward as if she was in a secretive conversation with her student and asked, “You didn’t post this drawing to your social media accounts, did you?” No answer, just a stupefied look on Charlie’s face. “Well, did you?!” The student gave a cheeky half smile and it was obvious at that point what his answer was.

“You idiot!” screamed Rebecca Waters. She stood over Charlie like a giant ready to breathe fire on some helpless villagers. “Do you realize what the hell you’ve done?! Are you so thickheaded that you don’t realize the gravity of what’s going on here?! Yeah, it may be a stupid cartoon to you, but it’s much more to the people online and around the world! It’d be the same thing if you posted a drawing of a black guy eating watermelon or a gay guy in tight-fitting bicycle shorts! You don’t do that! There are certain lines you just don’t fucking cross!”

Charlie looked into his teacher’s furious eyes with five second fear and then smiled his idiotic smile again when he said, “You swore, Miss Waters! Naughty, naughty!”

The art teacher fluffed her hair in frustration, let out a pissed off grunt, and plopped back down into her computer chair. She sat there for a minute taking deep breaths to calm herself down while Charlie was smiling and chuckling at her.

“What are you laughing at, you moron?” asked Rebecca. “You think bigotry is funny? Well, I don’t. This school doesn’t. The whole point of school is to teach you the ways of the world and how to coexist with the people you share that world with.” She snatched the picture from Charlie’s hand and presented it with disdain. “I’m not letting you get away with this. This kind of sick, demented garbage is punishable by suspension, maybe even expulsion if we feel you’re not learning anything from this.”

The smile slowly disappeared from Charlie’s face. “You can’t do that,” he said in a defeated tone.

“Oh, but we can. And we will! But you know what, Charlie? I don’t want you to be expelled from here. I want you to be punished, but not in that way. Maybe a cartoon doesn’t warrant that kind of extreme punishment. But you’re saying depicting the Prophet Muhammad in that way doesn’t mean anything. I’m saying it does and many will agree with me, including the Principal.”

Charlie’s eyes darted from side to side before he asked, “So…what do you want me to do? I mean…there is a catch to me not being expelled, right?”

“For starters, I want you to log onto my computer, go to your social media accounts, and take down the picture before anybody sees it. Ah, who am I kidding? It’s probably spreading across the internet right now. But I’d still appreciate it if you’d take it down before anybody gets hurt.”

Mr. Marks stared at his teacher like what she was asking him was too much to handle. After a while of stalling, Rebecca sighed and said, “Listen. I told you I didn’t want to expel you from here. You know why? Because up until this point, you’ve been doing A and B-worthy work in my classroom. You are a talented artist in many ways. But this drawing crosses so many lines on so many levels. So instead of putting you on the chopping block, I’d like you to meet somebody.”

Using her smart phone, Rebecca signaled her special guest to enter the office. He was a giant of a man with dark skin, a bald head, and a scraggly beard. He stood over Charlie Marks like the offensive artist was merely a worm on the sidewalk ready to be stepped on. He was introduced by Rebecca as Kamal Sadollah, one of the five hundred Muslim students she referenced earlier in the conversation.

“Relax, Charlie. I’m not here to hurt you. Allah wouldn’t forgive me if I did such a thing to you. But I have seen your drawing on Face Book and Twitter. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He placed his thick palm on Charlie’s quivering shoulder and said, “I know my religion and my culture doesn’t mean much to you. But it means something to me. I turned to Islam because I needed direction in my life. And guess what? I haven’t gotten in one fight since. I am a member of the high school wrestling team and any battle I have will be on the mat and nowhere else.”

“Okay, I get it,” said Charlie in a nervous tone. “You’re pissed off about my drawing. But you have to understand something. I didn’t do it because I wanted to piss you off personally. I did it as a joke. I thought it would be hilarious and I still think it is. Am I right?” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. Neither Rebecca nor Kamal was laughing. They were staring holes through him with their sniper scope vision.

“Here’s the deal,” said Kamal as he put his face closer to Charlie’s. “Either you take down that picture from Face Book and Twitter and anywhere else you have it posted, or I’m going to do something you’ve always wanted to do with your narcissistic pictures. I’m going to share that drawing. I’m going to share it with every Muslim friend and family member I know. And then I’ll share it with atheists, Christians, Jews, and anyone else who will listen. By the time I’m done distributing it, the entire world will know how much of an asshole Charlie Marks is. I won’t hurt you. I never will. But I can’t say the same for anyone else who sees that picture.”

“Charlie…listen to me,” said Rebecca. “You’re too young in your life to play the role of a villain. If that many people know about what you’ve done today, then your life will be ruined. I don’t want to see you end up that way. So please…do the right thing. Take down the picture.”

Kamal handed Charlie his smart phone and said, “Here, you can use this if you want. Don’t worry, it’s not hardwired to an IED. We’re not all stereotypes here, Charlie. We’re real people with real desires and real dreams. Do you have desires of your own that you want to see through? Then keep the world from seeing your worst side.”

Charlie Marks had tears in his eyes after being dressed down by Kamal Sadollah and Rebecca Waters. They broke him without ever once laying a finger on him. All they had to do was something every religion preached: talk to their enemy. After wiping his tears with his jacket sleeve, Charlie put Kamal’s smart phone to use and began the process of taking the offensive drawing down from the internet. It would be a huge weight off of his shoulders afterwards and that felt good.

Getting With the Times

***GETTING WITH THE TIMES***

As someone who openly admits to being a millennial who still plays with toys, being time conscious isn’t one of my strong suits. I don’t follow trends, I don’t care if an interest of mine is dated, I don’t care what’s considered cool by other people, and I’ll wear pretty much whatever I want as long as it’s comfortable. The times may have changed, but my core values have not.

It didn’t occur to me how behind in the times I was until I was editing a short story for American Darkness called “Not Gonna Die”. In this story, there’s a party going on in the main character’s dormitory and the music that’s blasting out of the speakers is “Brass Monkey” by The Beastie Boys. I know of that song, because I was born in 1985, which means I’m twelve years older than the college kids in this story. There aren’t many 18-year-olds who know who the Beastie Boys are, so in order to have realistic cool kids who keep up with the times, I chose rap music that was a little more modern in Tech N9ne. No complaints yet.

Having an old school state of mind is easy for me because nobody has challenged me on it and anybody who did was met with the same nonconformist argument I give everyone. I actually had my brother James tell me that, “Nobody listens to Disturbed anymore.” I do. I listen to them a lot. They may have been popular in the early 2000’s, but to my way of thinking, they’ve stood the test of time in the year 2015. Obviously, my older brother is very time conscious while I couldn’t give two shits what year it is.

When it comes to my writing career, however, it should stand to reason that I have a new school state of mind, because websites like Twitter and Face Book are the future of book marketing. I do have a Face Book account under my real name of Garrison Haines-Temons. I don’t, however, have a Twitter account anymore. There were three separate occasions where I’ve had a Twitter account, but realizing it was about as useful as an asshole on my bicep, I’ve walked away several times and I have no plans to go back.

I also don’t have a smart phone like pretty much everybody does. I have a generic cell phone and even though it has texting capabilities, I don’t take advantage of them. Sending off misspelled sentences with cheesy emoticons isn’t appealing to me since I have too much respect for the English language. As far as technology goes, the only “cool” things I have are my desktop computer, Roku streaming device, and a generic MP3 player from a company that went out of business apparently.

Getting with the times isn’t something that appeals to me very much. If I want to follow a trend, I want that trend to actually have some substance to it. It’s the difference between choosing The Beastie Boys versus Lil’ Wayne or Nirvana versus…some rock band in the 2010’s I’ve never heard of before. There are things in the present day that appeal to me such as the metal bands Gemini Syndrome and Nothing More, which goes to show that it’s not about the time period something comes from, but rather the importance of its message. Rage Against the Machine is a relic from the 90’s, but their music still means something to me.

I have one last message for you all before I get into the posts about my latest artistic endeavors. Unga-bunga. Me caveman. Me want substance. Me no care about coolness! Me have ears! Me say cheers!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The official date of this journal’s publication is October 30^th, which means I still have two more days of Villains Month left. And man, do I have a villain for you guys: Ryan Brock from my most recent short story “Streetwalker”. We all know that rape is a bad thing, but Ryan Brock takes the humiliating and traumatizing act to a whole different level when he forces himself on a mage named Danielle Courtney. That’s a villain in my book!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

I have to be frank with you guys. Although Random.org has chosen “Death Blade” as the next short story to edit, I’m not looking forward to it at all. Don’t get me wrong, Marie’s comments never scare me. In fact, they make me laugh and feel lighthearted. It’s the actual job of editing that frightens me about “Death Blade”. It was my first official entry at the WSS Contest and Company and I wasn’t as good in late 2013 as I am now. In other words, what scares me the most…is my own unpolished writing. Maybe I’ll shelve Death Blade and choose a different one to edit for now.

　

***JANUARY FIRST***

I’ve been spending the past few days trying to bulldoze through another paperback book. Whenever I get in this mood, every other creative project takes a backseat with the exception of competing in WSS contests. What makes January First by Michael Schofield so special is its ability to speak to me personally. Like little Janni, I too have schizophrenia and I recognize her struggles. Watching her spiral into madness is heartbreaking and has almost brought me to tears a few times. I plan on giving this book an Extra Credit grade when I finish reading it, which it desperately needs because some troll assholes on Good Reads are peppering it with uneducated one-star reviews. I’ve heard of that kind of trolling happening to authors before, so I take good care not to believe anything those people say.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WYNARSKI: Excuse me, have you seen a set of keys around here?
RANDAL: No time for love, Dr. Jones.

-Clerks, a movie made in 1994 when renting movies from a video store was still “cool”-

New Orleans Vacation: Round Two

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION: ROUND TWO***

Next Friday, as in October 30^th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!

Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).

But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30^th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4^th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.

If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***

With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.

　

SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.

　

And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender

　

SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!

Where's Susie?

CHORUS 1
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a hundred million bucks
If I don’t get it, I’ll scream like fuck
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 1
Let’s make one thing perfectly clear
You won’t find Susie around here
I know you hold her dear and near
I know you have your greatest fears
But I’ve never been mister four-one-one
I’m not the man who will get this done
Ask me one more time and I’ll explode
Look elsewhere for your final hope


CHORUS 2
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a place to put my penis
We’ll do it where no one will see us
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 2
The smartest of smart phones continues to ring
Yet I don’t know a single goddamn thing
You can ask your questions under a heated light
You’ll still get nothing on this cold autumn night
Way to go, Dick Tracy, or should I say Vic Mackey?
Probably the latter with the way you still ask me
You haunt the internet with a schizophrenic passion
Isn’t this the time to be responsible for your actions?


CHORUS 3
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a ride to planet Mars
Let’s take a trip in your rocket car
We can lose ourselves to foo-foo music
When it comes to gas, we can always abuse it


VERSE 3
Looking for Susie is like asking, “Where’s Waldo?”
You’re acting like it’s an answer we all know
If you’re so fucking scared about your little friend
Type up an Amber Alert and hit the link to send
Sherlock Holmes should be your new nickname
Yet all of your questions still remain the same
“Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie?”
Somewhere in the babble, you started to lose me


CHORUS 4
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Steamboat Springs Vacation

***STEAMBOAT SPRINGS VACATION***

This coming Wednesday (September 9^th), I’m headed to the airport to begin my family vacation in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I come home from vacation on the 14^th of that same month. That means I’ll spend five days in a place that has been described as “beautiful” and “dog friendly” by my mother. I’ve been in lots of places that were beautiful and dog friendly from Monterey Bay, California to Long Beach, Washington to Seaside, Oregon to Victoria, BC, Canada. If Steamboat Springs promises the same thing as those places, I’m in for a relaxing and stress-free vacation, which is the only kind of vacation I’ll do these days.

For all of you internet folk, it means the same thing as every other time I go on vacation: limited internet access and an inability to create new pieces of art whether it’s writing, photography, or drawing. For Deviant Art and Face Book, this means the most activity you’ll get out of me is replying to messages and nothing more. For Good Reads, particularly the WSS Contest, it means I won’t be able to participate in that week’s competition. For Read Together, Blog Together, don’t worry about a thing, because as soon as I get back from vacation, the first thing I’m going to do is read and review “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. Last and sure as hell not least, Mr. Andy Peloquin, you don’t need to worry about a thing either, because your September 8^th guest blog post about music and creativity will go live at midnight that day. Blogger.com allows for delayed posting, so I’m not scrambling to put things together at the last minute.

Just like with all vacations past, present, and future, I will return to the internet and I will get settled back into my daily routine. Try not to laugh when I say “daily routine”. I may be jobless, but that doesn’t mean I sit around with my thumbs in my ass all day long. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***AMERICAN DARKNESS***

If you’re on Deviant Art, you would have noticed several messages in your inbox that are updated short stories from this series. Those recent four stories have been completed and American Darkness is now fully repaired. All I have to do now is put together the .DOC files for Smash Words and Create Space and it’ll be ready to go. Despite the overwhelming numbers of crybaby male characters and bitchy female characters in these short stories, I can say with undying confidence that this version of American Darkness is ten times better than the one currently holding a 2.75 star rating on Good Reads. A big thanks goes to Marie Krepps for being there for me throughout all 50 of those stories. I pay a lot of lip service to that woman, but that goes to show how important a good beta reader is. Hell, I’d build a religious temple with her likeness on it if I wasn’t too lazy for manual labor. Hehe!

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

KRAMER: Things are going pretty well for me here in Hollywood. I met a girl.
JERRY: Kramer, she was murdered.
KRAMER: Yeah, well, I wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship anyways.

-Seinfeld-

Strangers Kissing

Let’s face it, people: we live in a world where the lines of communication are open (because of smart phones and the internet), but nobody talks to each other. I’m not proud to say I’m guilty of this myself. I have god knows how many friends on Face Book, yet I can’t be bothered to talk directly to them. Part of it is because of my own shyness. I can’t get passed these barriers between myself and my friends (and family) because I don’t know how to break them down. That’s why when I watched the “20 Strangers Kiss for the First Time” video, a part of me died and went to romantic heaven. Twenty strangers means ten random couples altogether, eight heterosexual couples, one lesbian couple, and one gay couple. I can’t put enough emphasis on the idea that these people were complete strangers to each other. Naturally, they were a little shy at first when asked to kiss each other. But kiss each other they did. Some of them were pecks on the lips, others were full-on tongue kisses. Any barriers these “couples” had between them were knocked over with authority. When somebody kisses you that passionately for seemingly no reason, it doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re giving you something worth having: trust. These strangers weren’t forced into doing this. I don’t even know if they were paid for being actors in this video. With a barrier between them and a camera capturing their tender moment, they gave each other their trust. A lot of trust. That trust was well-deserved too. None of these people would have agreed to kiss each other if the other person was a sociopath or a jerk. Even though they were complete strangers, they saw something in each other’s eyes that made them want to kiss. Again, they could have opted out of the movie and they didn’t. Just watch the video on You Tube if you haven’t already. It’s a beautiful experience and will restore your faith in a humanity tainted by violence, shallowness, and evil. The video is only a few minutes long, but that’ll be long enough to melt your heart like a stick of butter. It’ll even make you want to be a part of this video. And while you’re feeling these emotions of vicarious romance, if you have any interest in preserving them, don’t read the comments underneath the video. Among the ignorant remarks include homophobic slurs toward the gay couple, accusations of the actors being hipsters, suggestions that it’s somehow fake, etc. You have to remember that You Tubers, while sometimes entertaining, are not always the sharpest bulbs in the drawer. Or is it the brightest knives? Aw, fuck, here we go again. Anyways, just go to You Tube and type “Strangers Kissing” in the search engine. It’ll make you jealous, but it’ll also break your heart. Maybe there will be a few tears in your eyes, you never know.

　

***FACE BOOK MEME OF THE DAY***

“You can’t jack off to lesbian porn hours a day and then say you’re against gay marriage.”

-Being Liberal-