Calcobrena from Final Fantasy IV vs. Garrison's Autism (a Common Opponent These Days)

 

If anybody has a problem with my shirt, I can always take it off...slowly...with "Pump Up the Volume" playing in the background. Get your dollar bills ready and make that shit rain.

Final Fantasy IV and Stupidity

When people ask me about my favorite videogames, Final Fantasy IV is somewhere in that Mt. Rushmore...of more than four heads. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s got magic, science fiction, creepy puppets, and…unfortunately, it also has stupid characters. Cecil has to travel the world to protect the elemental crystals from Golbez. But every time Cecil and his friends touch one, Golbez is right there to take it from them, almost like the protagonists are just leading him to the crystals. There’s even one instance where Cecil had to exchange a crystal for his girlfriend Rosa. He gives Golbez the crystal and, surprise, surprise, Golbez reneges on the deal and tries to kill him. And then there’s the dragon knight Kain, who is supposed to be one of Cecil’s allies, but he keeps getting brainwashed by Golbez…over and over again! And what does Cecil do? Welcomes Kain back into the party every single fucking time the brainwashing wears off. Tellah, an old mage with powerful magic, has to sacrifice his own life to cast Meteor on Golbez, which doesn’t kill him, but forces him to relinquish control of Kain…for a little while! And by the way, Golbez is no better. He’s an all-powerful wizard knight who could kill everyone and everything in his path with just his magic alone. There’s even a time when he leaves Cecil and crew laying on the ground…and doesn’t kill them! If Golbez is that powerful, what the fuck does he need elemental crystals for? He could just lightning bolt the world out of orbit if he wanted to! Zip-zap, done! End of story! I’m not saying I’ve never had stupid characters before, but holy shit, they’re not THAT dumb. Now that I’m looking at Final Fantasy IV through a critical lens and not a nostalgic one, where does that rank it on the Mt. Rushmore of my favorite videogames? Hmm…

My Top 10 Fantasy Creatures

A few weeks ago, Jenna Moreci made a You Tube video counting down her top ten favorite fantasy creatures. While I don’t have an Author Tube account, I do have a list of my own. So thanks, Jenna, for the inspiration…and for being an awesome author…and for being a funny You Tuber. Anyways, here’s my personal list:

1. Cabbits from Tenchi Muyo

2. Calcobrena puppets from Final Fantasy 4

3. Demon clown from The Brave Little Toaster

4. Haunted house ghost from Adventures in the Magic Kingdom

5. Luck dragon from The Never Ending Story

6. Marching hammers from Pink Floyd the Wall

7. Moogles from the Final Fantasy franchise

8. Phanto from Super Mario Brothers 2

9. Protoss zealots from Starcraft

10. Shy Guys from Super Mario Brothers 2

And for an honorable mention, I’ve got Slimer from The Real Ghostbusters since we both have bottomless stomachs and hearts of gold. ^_^

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

25 Things That Got Me Through 2021

 The year 2021 isn’t over yet (damn it), but I’d like to make a list of 25 things that got me through it anyways, as a sequel to my 2020 list, which in turn was inspired by Innuendo Studios.

1. Amanda the Jedi

2. Casey Aonso

3. Chrono Trigger Soundtrack

4. Crit Crab

5. Cynical Reviews

6. Figure Four Weekly’s You Tube Channel

7. Final Fantasy IV Soundtrack (I deleted the Calcobrena theme for being too creepy)

8. Final Fantasy VI Soundtrack

9. Final Fantasy VII Soundtrack

10. Jenna Moreci

11. Krimson Rogue: His Reviews for Ready Player Two and the 64-Squares Book with the Long-Winded Title

12. Last Week Tonight with John Oliver

13. Mega Man X3 Soundtrack

14. Psych 2 Go

15. Rachel Oates

16. Savannah (a.k.a. The Queer Kiwi): Oxygen EP

17. Secret of Mana Soundtrack

18. Silent Season: Wounds, Stars, and Blame (three separate songs, not one title)

19. Solomonster Sounds Off

20. Stealers Wheel: Stuck in the Middle with You

21. The Ever-Burning Light by K.L. Cottrell

22. The Hunger Games: Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

23. Thought Slime

24. Wrestle Talk TV

25. Zoe Bee

Somewhere in the World

VERSE 1

Somewhere in the world, a wife is beaten

Her man calls it a crowning achievement

His woman covered in red, purple, blue

At least she’s someone you never knew

If she had a name, would you start to care?

Or is empathetic pain too much to share?

It didn’t happen in your US of A

So keep sipping your chardonnay

VERSE 2

Somewhere in the world, a woman loves you

Her smile can disarm, her eyes can hush you

Sooner or later, she’ll ask if she can touch you

To anyone with doubts, you say, “Fuck you!”

Hop on a plane and feel your butt go numb

Twelve hours of an engine’s obnoxious hum

When you finally land, you hold out your hand

Police cuff your wrists, fingerprints are scanned

BRIDGE

False realization, no lessons are learned

You simp for one while the other burned

Young, horny, and don’t give a fuck

The ones who need you most are shit out of luck

VERSE 3

Somewhere in the world, a dictator falls

Sledgehammers knock down the border walls

It’s closer to home, just check on your phone

Or you can open your ears to the angry tones

Do you feel your comfort zone getting smaller?

Do you want to be a Karen 9-1-1 caller?

Is it close enough when it happens to you?

Apathy still painted in red, white, and blue

FINAL VERSE

Somewhere in the world, kids are laughing

Somewhere in the world, kittens napping

Somewhere in the world, who knows where?

Do your fucking research if you deeply care

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!

The Real Game Excuse

***THE REAL GAME EXCUSE***

When I was still a member of Play By Web from 2001-2005, I would oftentimes create text-based RPG’s based on preexisting videogames such as Starcraft, Dead or Alive 3, and Final Fight just to name a few. The most frequent excuse someone would use not to join these games was…”Why don’t you just play the real game?” That irked me every time because I could never find a counterpoint for it. They were right to some degree. The videogames were right there ready to play and here I was attempting to capitalize off of them with text-based games. But I wanted so badly for people to join my games. Debating wasn’t and still isn’t my strong suit, because my opponents would come up with infinite talking points that I’d have no answer for.

Well, today in the year 2017, I have an answer for what I like to call “The Real Game Excuse”. It took me fifteen years to come up with a legitimate argument, but better late than never. While videogames have all of the graphics and gadgets to give their players a true vicarious experience, they’re limited in what you can actually do with them. Sure, you can hack the games and create your own levels and characters, but even that has its limits, especially for people who suck with computers. Text-based versions of these videogames offer endless possibilities with regards to character creation, storylines, writing expertise, and imagination development. Have you ever tried to create Megatron in a game of Diablo II: Lord of Destruction? No, and you never will. But in a text-based version of that game, you most certainly could if the referee allowed it.

But what if you don’t want to stick with just one game? What if you want to do a crossover series? Now the possibilities are REALLY endless! Take any two videogame titles, put an X between them, and you’re in business, buddy! Super Mario Brothers 2 X Diablo II: Lord of Destruction: holy shit! You’d have barbarians swinging battleaxes at Phantos, Lister the Tormentor blowing bubbles and getting killed with vegetables, sorceresses throwing lightning bolts at Clawgrip, Jesus Christ, look at all that! Try doing that with just a copy of a videogame.

Want another example? Sure, why not? How about Super Street Fighter II X Final Fantasy IV? Now you’ve got M. Bison psycho-crushing his way through an army of Calcobrena Puppets. You’ve got Chun Li doing a spinning bird kick while waiting for Kain Highwind to land from his jump attack. Hell, if Kain wanted to jump that fucking high, he can count on Zangief to help him out with a spinning pile-driver! What about the ultimate dream match between Ryu and Yang? The possibilities are…well, you get the drill by now. No need to overdo the talking point.

One last argument and then I’ll update you all on my creative projects. Making a decision between a videogame and an RPG is like making one between a movie and a book. With a videogame, you can see everything on the screen and you don’t need to engage your imagination. Movies are like that too. But with books and RPG’s, you have to create everything from scratch and actually put some work into your craft. Why do you think people brag about reading books more often than they do about watching movies? Granted, it takes a lot of work to finish a videogame, but once you’re finished with it, it’s over forever. If you were playing a pencil-and-paper RPG, you could go on for as long as you so desired and create new adventures.

I hope you guys aren’t getting the impression that I’m completely shitting on the videogame industry. I’ve played videogames since I was a little kid and even though I gave up on them in 2010, I still use them as a major source of creative fuel. They have their place society for sure, but they’re not an excuse to shit all over text-based RPG’s. Both mediums have their advantages and disadvantages, whether it’s cost analysis, creativity, simplicity of rules, or overall fun. I encourage everyone to enjoy both sides of this fence and live together in harmony. If someone has a pencil-and-paper version of Double Dragon handy, don’t mock them for it. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***BORN A CRIME***

The next time I delve into Trevor Noah’s memoir, I’m going to finish it off and review it. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to give it an extra credit grade or a passing one. It seems as though I’ve been handing out extra credit grades like it’s Halloween candy. Maybe there really are that many books out there that can change my life. Born a Crime could very easily be one of them.

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

The fourth to last story in this series will be called “Gorgon Death Bitch”. Since the prompt in this week’s WSS contest is Radio, here’s how it’ll go:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend

2.      Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The radio is blasting when Steve comes home.

SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.

FUN FACT: Kathryn Marsh is going to be the next character to be drawn in the Dark Fantasy Warriors series.

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

If Poison Tongue Tales ever has its own page on TVtropes.org, these are the tropes you should probably be aware of. All of my dogs have saggy jowls, all of my male villains are fat and ugly, all of my muscle-bound heroes giggle like children, and all of my characters in general have hot tempers. Okay, so maybe not ALL of these tropes are 100% true…but enough of them are. Hehe!

Mine Shafts

***MINE SHAFTS***

When I was a little kid growing up in Elk Grove, California, it never once occurred to me that mine shafts were dangerous to not only the workers, but also the environment. Salt mines always seemed like cool settings for a story to me due to their darkness and the unknown feeling of what could be lurking in one of these places. Plus, it was always cool to me for some reason to see a mine cart traveling on train tracks.

The movies “Snow White” and “City Slickers 2: The Legend of Curley’s Gold” were probably to blame for giving me an interest in mine shafts to begin with. Then again, I also saw them in videogames like “Final Fantasy II” (American SNES game) and “Mega Man X”. The possibility of actually finding riches in one of these places was always exciting to me, so much so that I wanted to dig up my backyard to find gems. Or in the case of Final Fantasy II, a Shadow Sword. Or in the case of City Slickers 2, a bar of gold that wasn’t just painted up for fun and games.

As an author, I’m always looking in the strangest places for creative fuel, even if it’s so far back into my past that I barely remember it. So how exactly can I use a salt mine as a place of interest in one of my stories without directly copying what I’ve seen on television and in videogames? I’d also like to be able to use it without giving uncomfortable glimpses into tragedies like Massey Energy and what happened in Chile in 2010.

My first thought on how to handle such creative fuel would be to use a dark mine shaft as a lair for an overly powerful monster of some sort. Maybe there’s a sleeping dragon underneath the cart tracks. Maybe there’s a vampire coven that’s using the mine to stay out of the sunlight. What about an ogre who just wants to be left alone in peace? These are just ideas for who exactly could be living in this mine.

What if the mine shaft was completely renovated into an actual living space instead of just a dark and dusty corner of the earth? What if it was a castle with a gigantic demon mouth for an entrance? What if there were wizard runes carved into the rock? Or one could go for a saner route and turn it into a tourist attraction or a museum. No matter how wild or wacky your idea is, it should somehow spell trouble for your main characters or else there’s no point in having a story.

Pretty much any place an author can think of can be re-imagined as a bastion of creativity. Final Fight turned a rundown slum into a base of operations for the Mad Gear gang. Final Fantasy Mystic Quest turned a dragon corpse into a legitimate desert dungeon. What could a mine shaft be? The answer is as unlimited as your creativity. This blog is merely a prompt suggestion along with some small ideas for that prompt.

Using examples from my own life, I once wrote a western fantasy movie script in 2007 called “Texas Technique”, where a mine shaft was used as a gateway to the underworld for zombies who didn’t want to be controlled by necromancy anymore. It had hooded priests, an altar, magical energy, the works. Almost a decade earlier than that, I spent my childhood coming up with ideas for videogames, one of them being a western-themed Double Dragon game. You’re damn right Shadow Master was hiding out in a mine shaft. Where else is a darkness-based villain going to hide?

The creative fuel is on the table. You can write a novel, write a short story, paint a painting, run a D&D campaign, or whatever your heart desires. If you don’t want to use mine shafts as a prompt suggestion, you certainly don’t have to. It was a special piece of creativity to me as a child, so I hope to one day use it again in my own writing. A base of operations, a monster’s lair, a mighty fortress, a resting place for the undead, a gateway to hell, so many possibilities, so many ways to create something beautiful. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

It’s a new week and a new prompt suggestion at the WSS has been released. This time we’ve got “Non-Formulaic”, a prompt highly suggestive of nonconformity. You all know by now how much I love individuality. Without it, there is no creativity. With no creativity, there’s no art. The earth without art is just eh. My story this week is called “Dark Side of the Wall” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Ryan Warrior, Heavy Metal Solo Artist

Nameless Audience Members

Nameless Bouncers

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ryan’s music doesn’t follow the formula of typical heavy metal due to him combining it with Native American music.

SYNOPSIS: Ryan puts on a heavy metal show for an outdoor arena audience in which he combines fast-paced beats with music from his Native American heritage. He’s used to playing for rowdy audiences, but this crowd pisses him off due to their perverted, drunken, and overly-aggressive behavior. Ryan stops midway through a song in order to unleash a hell storm of vitriol upon the people who came to see him. His aggressive attitude is reminiscent of Roger Waters’ when Pink Floyd did a supporting tour for their Animals album in 1977 and Mr. Waters spit on a fan climbing the stage net. Ryan even gets a hash tag trend going called “Dark Side of the Wall” due to him referencing Pink Floyd during his tirade. At this point, Mr. Warrior has a decision to make: finish the show and earn his payday or kill the show and spite the fans.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In all this time of peeking at my drawings, you’re probably wondering what the point of it all is, given the obvious simplistic style. There are two points. One, it’s a promotional tactic to lure people to my writing. Sometimes when you go fishing, you have to use the right bait. The second reason is because sometimes when I draw these pictures, I always feel ready to do more creative work afterwards. I spent the last two nights not using my CPAP mask because the humidifier kept blowing water in my face. While it’s nice not to drown in my own machine, I did wake up late in the day both times and my energy had been sapped. So thank you, Dark Fantasy Warriors, for giving me a chance to stimulate my muse when I’m too tired to carry on. Who’s the next character to be drawn? Makoto Lionheart, the necromancer slash evil clown slash samurai from the short story “Tiger Bullet Kick”. Three occupations in one. Holy shit!

***DEMON AXE***

When an elven terrorist slays a shit ton of people at a heavy metal concert and traumatizes the lead singer of Demon Axe, how does Paulson City respond? By having another live event and showing said elven terrorist that America will not negotiate with his kind. In this case, we’ve got a wrestling slash MMA show in which seven-foot champion Johnny Vega tries to lead the crowd in a moment of positivity only to have it interrupted by Sonia Marquez, an MMA aficionado who thinks wrestling is “fake”. Surely, the elf terrorist can’t strike again, right? Am I right? I hope so.

***COLLEGE HUMOR DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

USER: The Boston Bomber.

GOOGLE GUY: It was a real tragedy.

USER: The cute one.

GOOGLE GUY: Oh, fucking shit!

-If Google Was a Guy-

Wilde & Jung

TEAM NAME: Wilde & Jung


NAME: Bellatrix Wilde
AGE: 50
OCCUPATION: Mad Scientist
CANON: Wilde & Jung


NAME: Cletus Jung
AGE: 45
OCCUPATION: Monster Psychologist
CANON: Wilde & Jung

Ever since playing Final Fantasy IV and fighting the ultra-insane Dr. Lugae and his bumbling creation Barnabas, I’ve had an obsession with the mad scientist occupation. I went with that angle in 2002 when I created Dr. Scott Cain and Dr. Herman Stan (then known as Dr. James Lugae). After those two raped and sodomized everything in their paths, here I am in early 2011 thinking to myself, “How can I out-crazy those two freaks of nature?” Come on over, Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung. Because as American Bang once said, “We are wild and young! We have just begun!”

In order to out-crazy the likes of Scott Cain and Herman Stan, I had to make these two new characters into 100% Complete Monsters. It was the only way. Bellatrix and Cletus had a daughter together and they molested the shit out of her until she was a legal adult. Not shocked yet? How about the fact that they create and psychological taint monsters for a living and set them loose on the city? Still feeling numb? Then try this shit on for size: these two nut jobs decided to outdo themselves and create Gorgeous George, a slobbering, green blooded, razor fanged, heartless, brainless ogre who would have snapped Cletus Jung’s spine if Bellatrix Wilde wasn’t there to rescue him. It’s so nice to see such a beautiful couple working together…and then having hot tub sex afterwards.

In case Gorgeous George wasn’t doing enough damage to the fictional version of Portland, Cletus and Bellatrix pulled together some money and hired an assassin who’s twice as fucked up as they are, but two decades younger and ten times hotter. Her name was Nina Machete and her only job was to rape the shit out of an autistic trauma patient named Elijah Mellows and give him a goopy black version of the clap. Apparently, Elijah’s testimony would have been enough to lock Bellatrix and Cletus away for a long time, despite the fact that Portland’s police force is running scared.

With so much chaos, blood, and mayhem painting the streets of Portland, there were only so many ways to live under such a society. The first solution was a tragic one that claimed the life of one of Portland’s most profound psychologists: Dr. Charlie Graeme. He was the only hope for this city and even he cracked under pressure, even with the wisdom of a 55-year-old man. Dr. Graeme locked himself in his office and committed suicide via hanging from his work desk. He had no idea how many people cried for him and still wouldn’t know even to this day.

Dr. Charlie Graeme left one last solution for the people of Portland and that would be the second way of coping with the violence: leave the fucking city. You know your city is a crappy place to live when the only solution is to give up and let it burn to the fucking ground. To help with that was a very good friend of Dr. Graeme’s: an intercity bus driver named Kelly O’Brien. Her bus driving skills alone would be enough to transport the remaining population of Portland out of the city and to literally a tropical paradise. Elijah Mellows, who was riding in the seat right behind Kelly, led the passengers in singing “They Dance Alone” by Sting. That heartwarming moment alone was enough to bring hope to traumatized citizens of a citywide madhouse.

But whatever happened to Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung, the original two subjects of this blog post? Remember what I said about letting Portland burn to the ground? Well, legend has it that the chaos the two scientists have caused was so out of hand that the city did indeed collapse on itself and take those two nitwits with them. That’s what the legend says. Nobody knows for sure because nobody wants to go over there to find out and possibly get eaten by Gorgeous George. Or sodomized by Wilde and Jung, one of those two.

There are three reasons why Wilde & Jung was a flop. One, it was only 11 chapters long, which meant only so many words, which meant no agent would take it, so I didn’t try. Secondly, the style of writing I employed at the time could only be described as a hyperbolic joke every other sentence, which amounted to awkward and generally shitty writing on my part. But the third reason is the one that’s most important: because nobody likes Complete Monsters. Even the most hardcore horror fans will tell you that these kinds of characters are hard to deal with. There are devout BDSM practitioners who despise Christian Grey; that’s saying a lot! So if Wilde and Jung ever get the band back together, maybe I could tone down the CM level just a little bit.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“’More than happy.’ People like to say that a lot, don’t they. ‘Oh, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you.’ Doesn’t that sound like some kind of mental disease to you? ‘Aw, man, we had to lock him up in the loony bin. He just wasn’t right in the head. He was…more than happy!’”

-George Carlin-

Baby and Floyd

Baby and Floyd didn’t always have dark roots. In the early to mid 2000’s when I still visited my father in Vaughn on a weekly basis, those were the names of two of the most hyper, yet sweetest puppies to ever play with my dad and step-mother Charlie’s dog Daisy. Granted, I was the only one over in Vaughn who thought Baby and Floyd were darling, Baby being a golden retriever and Floyd being a rottie. Those two neighborhood dogs would drive Charlie nuts, especially after they tore up the yard and pissed on her pants. To this day, whenever I say “Who loves Floyd and Baby?”, Charlie says, “Nobody!” That was all some time ago. I don’t even know of those two dogs are alive today. If they are, they’re getting old.

Maybe the literary incarnation of Baby and Floyd are both representative of the sadness that comes with pets growing old and eventually dying. As far as my characters go, Baby and Floyd are not cute puppy-duppies. They are dark. They are deadly. They are cannibalistic. Piss them off and they’ll have you for supper. Think of them as the baldheaded puppets in Final Fantasy IV on steroids. The puppets in that game are creepy enough as it is, but they were so easy to kill. If you start hearing the Calcobrena theme playing while Baby and Floyd are in the same room as you, you’d better have toilet paper handy.

Baby has a pit bull mentality as WWE commentator Michael Cole likes to say about Daniel Bryan. Well, any true animal lover would know pit bulls are only mean if assholes abuse them. But let’s say for a moment that Michael Cole isn’t blowing a whole bunch of smoke. What would that mean for Baby, the little baldheaded cannibal puppet? It means if you leave your leg out, he will attach himself to it and chew until either his belly is full or your blood is drained. Guess which one will happen first.

Floyd is an entirely different animal. Yes, he’s just as cruel and evil as his much smaller counterpart, but he doesn’t normally use his teeth to get the job done. He has a sword for that kind of deal. If you need a reference point to follow, picture the big fucking sword Cloud Strife has in Final Fantasy VII and give it the ability to throw fire bombs upon unsuspecting enemies. Did I also mention Floyd is damned near seven feet tall? Does a guy the size of Frankenstein really need a sword that can cause so much destruction? Of course he does, because there are times when Baby prefers to have his meal of human flesh properly cooked.

This would normally be the part in the blog entry where I try to find employment for the character or characters in question. However, upon further inspection of my notes on Fireball Nightmare Act 3: Peace of Mind, there are two spots conveniently open for villainous characters. Well, now. Who should get those two spots? Which pair is evil enough to align themselves with a vampire wizard named Rhys Black, a child molester named Donald Park, and a brutal luchador named El Comegente? I know! How about John Bush and George Kerry? I’m just teasing you, of course those two spots are going to Floyd and Baby. Have fun, you two, but don’t have too much fun!

　

***PARODY WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The following contest is a First Blood match for the WWE Divas Championship!”

-Justin Roberts-

Two-Sentence Horror Stories

Susan’s alarm clock went off at seven in the morning and she was slowly sitting up in her comfy beddy-bye. When her eyes finally adjusted to the glaring sunlight, she saw the Burger King mascot sitting next to her in bed where her ten-year-old daughter normally was.

Little Maria was playing in the sandbox by herself with her lovable stuffed rabbit and her Winnie the Pooh Pillow Pet. The shadow of a perverted old man in a trench coat appeared over her as he whispered the words, “I can’t wait until you turn 18!”

Stephanie McMahon’s relentless slaps across The Big Show’s face were stinging with orange hot pain. Big Show retaliated by clutching Stephanie’s throat, not to give her his patented choke slam, but to shove a date rape drug down her throat.

Mario ran as fast as his chubby body would carry him as he pilfered the golden key from the evilly grinning Phanto. The sinister mask finally caught up to him and with one monstrous chomp bit Mario’s ear off like Mike Tyson.

The baldheaded and bloodthirsty Calcobrena puppets came to life and started dancing like they were performing in the world’s scariest ballet. The urine stain in Cecil’s pants was so damp that he would need a Sham Wow to soak up the stale fluids.

Rosa curled in the corner and shivered as the disgusting and perverted Dr. Lugae slowly approached her. He leaned his disfigured face close to her tear-soaked face and said, “Are you wearing a Milk Duds bra?”

Wanderlei Silva was flipping through the pages of the ultra-sexy Ronda Rousey’s ESPN photo shoot magazine with Matt Brown looking over his shoulder. Wanderlei said, “Ronda sure looks good.” and Matt Brown replied with, “Tastes good too, bro!”

Tarja Turunen received her 501^st letter and it revealed a picture of her naked and butchered husband Marcelo Cabuli bound with chains and ball gagged. Below the picture were the words written in Floydian font: “Leave him for me…or else!”

G-Switch had been stripped naked and sprayed with a cold hose as his prison cell awaited him for what would be a life sentence. When it came time to give him his uniform, he didn’t get an orange jumpsuit, but a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit instead.

The frightened and defenseless Tina huddled in the dark corner while her attacker slowly approached her with a club in his hand. The lights flickered on to reveal the assailant as Drew Carey in a black banana hammock, who went on to say, “Welcome to Who’s Life Is It Anyway, where everything’s made up and the points are as useless as your cries for help!”

Todd knelt and sobbed over the bloody remains of his butchered wife. The torturer put a hand on the poor husband’s shoulder and gave him some good news: “I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico.”

Gail was called into the massage therapist’s office for what was sure to be a relaxing and joyful experience. That all changed when she found out her massage therapist was Jeffrey Dahmer, who just got off of his “lunch break” and was back on the clock.

Charles had just devoured a delicious Chinese meal of fried sole, egg drop soup, and creamed broccoli. When he opened his fortune cookie, the little strip of paper read, “Thank you for eating at Hannibal Lector’s Golden Grill.”

Dave had just been served a scrumptious plate of Chinese fried rice and pork chow mein by the lovely smiling waitress. When he asked for a fork, however, the waitress pulled one out of her apron and stabbed him in the hand repeatedly until the metal utensil went all the way through.

Staci was tied to the street post with sharp steel chains and gagged with a horse mask. The only people who would come to her rescue were religious protestors who were holding up rainbow-colored signs that said, “God hates gags.”

With a dirty old man in lingerie chasing her across the parking garage, Elizabeth tripped over her high heeled shoes and lost one of them in the process. When the old man got close enough, he went after the shoe instead and took a huge sniff of the fetishized footwear.

Ronald McDonald approached the checkout isle of the grocery store with a basket full of goodies. Among the items purchased in unison were a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and a copy of Teen Cosmopolitan magazine.

Terrance approached the speaker box at Wendy’s and placed the following order: “I’d like a bowl of chili with a finger in it, a double bacon cheeseburger with human jerky, and an unsweetened iced tea with a woman’s big toe floating near the top.” Without missing a beat, the clerk on the other end of the speaker said, “If everything on the screen is correct, that’ll be $8.99 at the first window.”

Jerry and Sonya stripped each other of their clothing for a night of intimate romance. To get the lovemaking started, Jerry said in an African accent, “I am the captain now!”

Jeremiah was busy in the barn milking the cow when Uncle Zeb entered with a disgusted look on his face and said, “That’s a bull, son.” Jeremiah smiled at the farm master and said, “I knew that.”

A hefty mall cop entered Victoria’s Secret looking for a man named Victor Timothy. When the sexy brunette clerk shortened the two given names and put them together, it became painfully clear to her what the mall cop was really looking for.

The photo shoot for the No H8 campaign required that the celebrities in question, Daniel Bryan and Brie Bella, put duct tape on their mouths as a form of protest against bullying. When all the needed pictures were taken, the photographer then produced two more “protest props”: a black leather gimp hood and a red rubber ball gag.

William took a bite of cherry pie and thought it was so delicious that he needed to know the ingredients. Jenny leaned her face seductively into his and listed the ingredients as rhubarb, chocolate-covered cherries, cane sugar, orange juice, and finally…the minced remains of William’s mother.

The charismatic spokesman for Metro PCS bounced a purple metal ball around with the message that phone service was only $40, period. After he continually drove home the point of “period power”, he was brutally run over by a semi-truck delivering Kotex products.

Thomas took a swig of chocolate milk and immediately had the urge to vomit himself inside out. When he looked at the milk jug, not only did the expiration date say January 2^nd, 1904, but the brand name was “Honey Bucket”.

Richard was told that a Playboy Bunny was waiting for him at the Motel 6 for a night of “sensual action”. When he opened the door, he got an entirely different kind of bunny: a 300 lb. mountain man in a Bugs Bunny outfit wielding a morning star.

Karlos Ludwig

Okay, so maybe I already have a character named Karlos Ludwig. He’s the guitarist in the title band Death Blade. He’s got dreadlocks, a fluffy beard, and badass shredding abilities. Even so, his role was very small, because there were other characters who easily outshined him and his name was only mentioned a few times within that short story. Before the guitarist version of this character was created, Karlos Ludwig was an entirely different person in a Good Reads fantasy RPG called Medieval Magic. In that storyline, he was an introverted knight who didn’t like taking crap from authority figures. Being introverted works for a lot of people in real life, but unfortunately, aggressively seeking privacy from the other players doesn’t work so well in an RPG setting. Nobody can say he didn’t try, though. He ordered a big ass pizza at a bar known for brawls. He took a swim in a fairy lake. He trained in an open field known for being hunting grounds. How could this guy not be obvious to everyone after all these things? It’s probably because everyone was so scared of Karlos that they were afraid to approach him. Due to a lack of human interaction, I had to permanently disable him from game play and when I tried to make a more extroverted character, that didn’t work either. Eventually, I parted ways with Medieval Magic and went on to bigger and better things. Despite having already used Karlos as a character in Death Blade, I feel like he didn’t get enough of the spotlight and that he needs more. I’m more than willing to recycle his name into a more prominent character. What kind of character will that be? Karlos Ludwig is a very intimidating name no matter what occupation he undertakes. Hey, he could be an undertaker! Nothing strikes fear in the hearts of others quite like burying dead bodies. But what if he was actively seeking “clients”? What if he was cruising the neighborhood looking for young girls to put in these graves? Alive, no less! Karlos Ludwig is already sounding like a creepy psychopath. But he doesn’t necessarily have to be. In Medieval Magic, he was a dark knight similar to Cecil Harvey’s first incarnation in the videogame Final Fantasy IV. What if Karlos was Cecil Harvey on steroids? Maybe instead of dark blue armor, it could be all black with poisonous spikes. Instead of a long sword, Karlos could carry a glowing green battleaxe to signify even more poison running through his veins. Whether he’s an antihero or an ant villain, the one requirement I would have for Karlos Ludwig is that he’s the scariest motherfucker in the entire prose. He’d have to have a face only a mother could love, provided that mother also gave birth to either Jeffrey Dahmer or Charles Manson. I think we can make this work, people. I’m not ruling it out just yet!

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

VIC MACKEY: You want us to catch this killer or not?

DAVID ACEVEDA: Going undercover as dirty cops. You think you can pull that off?

VIC MACKEY: We can try.

-The Shield-