Vinny Verhei from Wrestling Observer Live vs. AJ Styles from WWE: You Can't Please Everybody, So Don't Even Try

 

Bart Simpson vs. Ghislaine Maxwell: If She Looks Like a Monster, It's Because She Is One

 

Imane Khelif vs. Melania Trump: No, That's Not a Boxing Match, Unfortunately

 

The Pinnacle of Human Beauty

 

Thank You All

 

You see this right here? These are the demographics for the people who read my blog Garrison’s Library. I started it in 2012 and it was originally intended to be a place where I review books. Then as the years went by, I wrote reviews for TV shows, movies, and plays. Then I wrote nonfiction think pieces. Then I posted micro-fiction. Then I posted story chapters. Then I posted poetry. Eventually it became a central hub for all of my creative writing. Well, almost all of it. But there’s enough good stuff there to attract all these different silent fans from around the world. I cringe at my old stuff, sure, but you know who doesn’t? People who are reading it for the first time. Remember that meme that said you have a lot of silent fans even if you don’t know it? It also said that the low amount of likes, shares, and comments aren’t reflective of all the people whose lives are changed by your art? Now I’ve got the proof I needed. I think I deserve to blow myself every now and then since the 2020’s have given me enough trauma to ruin my self-esteem. To all of you silent fans out there, even though I’ve never met you and I don’t know your names, I just want to say, thank you for making this a worthwhile creative career. I’m not a highly paid rockstar in the industry. My books are self-published. My blog entries are free, because they’re first drafts. But you know what? Thank you all. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. From the bottom of my soul, thank you.

Get Me Out of Here

I drink my nectarine juice with no BPAs

The plane’s exhaust fumes shit on the EPA

Babies are crying and cracking my skull

Drunken lunatic tries to give the latch a pull

Horny ass couples suck on faces and tits

Flight attendants’ short fuses are blown to bits

The Air Marshal fell asleep on the job

Get me out of here, I’m ready to sob

I’ll swan dive to the streets of London

Or to France for some Paris lovin’

Parachute to the beaches of Mexico

Pancake on the deserts of Texas, NO!

Anywhere is better than the airplane

Even hell starts to sound a little bit tame

The high winds will cut me to shreds

At least I’ll have my own graveyard bed

I’ll take matters into my own hands

If this plane doesn’t want to fucking land

Chuck the dipshits out of the airlock

Drag them by their greasy coach hair locks

One by one the angels fly to heaven

Or they splat at the seven-eleven

Or they’re floating on the whale road

Silence has become their only code

Oh, my word, I’ve become a flight risk

Pain in the neck like a broken cervical disk

TSA might have to pat my ass down

I’ll leave a present, something warm and brown

They say I might cause another nine-eleven

I can’t even fly a seven-forty-seven

But if it helps them sleep at night

Keep my prison cell locked up tight

Andre the Giant

 MOVIE TITLE: Andre the Giant
PRODUCER: HBO
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Wrestling Documentary
RATING: TV-14 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit

Seven feet and four inches tall, well over four hundred pounds, undefeated for fifteen years in professional wrestling, first ever WWE Hall of Famer, and above all else, a literal larger than life character. When the name Andre the Giant is mentioned, these are the descriptors that come with it and it was a solidly earned reputation. Wrestling fans wanted to see a godlike attraction, so they dished out large sums of money to see him destroy his opponents like they were nothing. The wrestling business wouldn’t have boomed in popularity if not for Andre’s mystique and extraordinary presence. Watching this HBO documentary on him made me believe in the legend all over again. It made me nostalgic for the “good old days”, at the risk of sounding like an old codger. I gave up watching pro-wrestling in 2018 due to how bad the WWE product had become. Seeing Andre in action being a dominant beast and making fans go absolutely bananas rekindled a tiny spark within me. It made me believe in the “never say never” idiom. Andre died in 1993, but his memory lives forever. This documentary was the perfect way to keep him immortal in the eyes of wrestling fans both old and new. It’s certainly more respectful than a yearly WWE battle royal where the winner achieves minimal success shortly thereafter.

One thing you can’t say about Andre the Giant was that he was a Gary-Stu, or a character so flawless that they become unrelatable. On the contrary, he was incredibly flawed. People think that being a gigantic tough guy is the ultimate ticket to being taken seriously and not being messed with. Fans messed with him a lot. They pointed and laughed at him. They said horrible things about his appearance, like a high school bully would do relentlessly in order to get his target to commit suicide. You would think that macho pro-wrestlers didn’t have sensitive sides, but Andre cried every time he was picked on by snickering fans. On top of all that, being that big comes with physical hardships as well, whether it was his failing organs, crooked spine, bad hips, or arthritic knees. Peers would often joke about Andre’s drinking habits and how he could go through a hundred cans of beer in a single sitting. He drank because he was depressed and couldn’t cope with the physical and emotional toll constant travel took on him. He couldn’t even sit in a normal sized car seat or rest in a normal sized bed. He also couldn’t be there for his daughter Robin when she needed him the most. Seeing this very human side to a deified wrestler reminds us over and over again not to judge a book by its cover and not to wish we could swap lives with other people. Everyone has their own set of hardships and everyone deals with them in their own way. It certainly makes his death that much more difficult to hear about from the perspectives of his colleagues, who also cried, by the way. The gentle giant deserved better than a slow and painful death. It makes me wonder if a Hall of Fame induction and a namesake battle royal are really enough to do him justice.

You know what does do him justice? His main event match at Wrestlemania III against Hulk Hogan for the WWF Championship. This wasn’t just two big guys having a hoss fight. There was a story behind this. This was Andre being taken seriously as a villainous character when he had spent most of his career being a gentle soul. This was Andre posing a credible threat to WWF’s golden goose. This was Andre severing a brotherly bond he had with Hulk Hogan just for a shot at a money-making championship. Hulk Hogan fought through his own tears and gave a resounding “Yes!” in the most emotional delivery possible when the challenge was laid down. The match itself wasn’t a technical masterpiece, but the documentary did a tremendous job in showing the psychology behind it, both backstage and in the ring. Could Hulk Hogan slay the giant and become a megastar that could carry the company through its darkest times? When he finally did with a body slam and leg drop, the audience cheered their heads off. I wanted to cheer my head off too. I wanted to be there in the building to see it happen, but I didn’t live in Detroit at the time. The energy, the emotional investment, the storytelling, they created a perfect storm when Andre’s defeat burst Hulk Hogan into the stratosphere. Again, this was oftentimes a slow and plodding match due to Andre’s mobility issues, but the magic was still there. The magic will always be there thanks to HBO keeping the memory alive.

I don’t give five-star ratings out so lightly, but for this documentary, I’ll gladly fork it over. One way to earn the maximum rating from me is to evoke emotions that I don’t ordinarily feel from movies and TV shows that I just like. HBO’s documentary did just that. It made me fall in love with wrestling again (even if I refuse to watch the current WWE product). It hurt to see Andre in so much agony, be it emotional or physical. It lifted me up whenever his peers would talk about his sense of humor and his kind demeanor outside of the ring. Was he a god on a worldwide level or was he a human being who longed for an normal life from time to time? The correct answer is yes. Rest in peace, Andre the Giant. It’s been many moons since your passing and we still miss you to this day. That’s the mark of a true legend: when you transcend your own death.

Inglorious Basterds

MOVIE TITLE: Inglorious Basterds

DIRECTOR: Quentin Tarantino

YEAR: 2009

GENRE: War Movie

RATING: R for violence, language, and sexual content

GRADE: Mixed

With all the political tension in today’s world, who wouldn’t want to escape into a world of Nazi-slaying fun? Cutting off their scalps, beating them with a bat, shooting them up, burning them down, if there’s a way to kill a Nazi in World War II, Aldo Raine and his troops will make it happen. You know who else will make it happen? A lone Jewish woman named Shosanna whose family was slaughtered by the Nazi war machine. That’s a lot of vengeful desires from anybody not involved in the Third Reich. There’s no possible way that this movie could be anything but perfect, right? Well, that’s where Quentin Tarantino’s biggest fault comes into play: sometimes his movies drag on for an excruciatingly long time. Inglorious Basterds was no exception to that rule. I realize a movie can’t be all action and no drama, but the reverse is also true if the idea is to make a revenge flick: it can’t be all drama and too little action. Some of the chapters could have been cut short and it wouldn’t have hurt the movie in any way, especially the chapter where the Nazis play the card game at a bar. If you want your bloodthirsty fun, you’ll have to get in line like everyone else.

But when you get exactly what you wanted out of this film, it’ll be exactly as you expected. The outcome of the story was never in doubt for even a second. Aldo Raine and his troops are overpowered in spite of the fact that some of them get killed along the way. Shosanna’s own plans for revenge are so brilliant that detailed that no German soldier could possibly crack her code. Everything that could go right in this movie did go right…except for the element of surprise for the audience. I guess when the genre is described as a “revenge flick”, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. No serious detective work has to be done. But can I at least believe for one small minute that the good guys have a chance of losing? Having a few of their soldiers killed vulnerability does not make. I want to see some flaws. I want to see some cracks in the world’s most impressive plot armor. Maybe if the German propaganda machine took these kinds of notes, their films wouldn’t look so ridiculous on screen.

If you think this review is going to be a nonstop bash-fest, you’re wrong. It was enjoyable for what it was. Quentin Tarantino’s dialogue will always deliver no matter what the genre of his movies. The subterfuge his characters engage in is also an impressive feat that required an extraordinary amount of creativity. Above all else, however, I must give my highest praise to the character work of Hans Lander, the Nazi colonel nicknamed the “Jew Hunter”. No, I’m not condoning his belief system, just his villainy. Whenever he interrogates someone, he knows he’s got his victims by the throat. He purposefully tiptoes around the answers he receives to give his liars a false sense of hope. I’d call this a perfect game of cat and mouse…if the cat had drill bits for fangs, battleaxes for claws, and venom for drool. I’d dare say that Hans is even more intimidating and dangerous than his boss Hitler himself. He’s so believable as a villain that he can almost negate my earlier point of the outcome being too predicable. Key word being almost.

It wouldn’t be fair to call Inglorious Basterds my least favorite Quentin Tarantino movie, because all in all I did enjoy it. Having a least favorite Tarantino movie is like having a least favorite flavor of ice cream: in the end, it’s still ice cream and it’s still going to be more delicious than the creamy strudel Shosanna and Landers shared in the high scale restaurant. This movie gets a mixed grade from me, but it’ll be a high mixed, which means three-and-a-half stars out of five. In the interest of being decisive and honest, I’ll round it down to a solid three. Being average doesn’t have to be a bad thing, right?

"Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven" by Brandon Easton

BOOK TITLE: Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven

AUTHOR: Brandon Easton

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

Andre the Giant’s road to wrestling stardom was one filled with pain, unhappiness, excessive drinking, and tough choices. Starting out as a farm boy in France, he fell in love with professional wrestling in his teen years when he’d see these small shows performed in front of live crowds. Needing an escape from feeling like a freak, he used his massive size to his advantage and started his long hard road to becoming one of the biggest legends in the wrestling industry. He traveled all over the world wrestling matches that stunned spectators until he made it to the multi-billion dollar World Wrestling Federation. His larger-than-life star power would become immortalized with his matches against Hulk Hogan, The Ultimate Warrior, and many other future Hall of Famers. He died in 1993 due to complications with his gigantism, but he will never be forgotten.

Graphic novels and comic books alike get bad reputations for being ordinary picture books for kids (that was a dig at you, Bill Maher). This graphic novel in particular is much more than that. It’s a well-written biography with dialogue and narration any reader can get behind. I especially liked the part where the old lady at the fairgrounds told Andre that he’s “closer to heaven” because God doesn’t have to reach down that far to touch him. That simple act of kindness helped Andre feel like more than just a sideshow freak. He was a human being with real emotions and real struggles, just like any other regardless of size. The dialogue and narration help convey that message perfectly. In other words, he’s a three-dimensional character within the confines of a greater story.

Just like all three-dimensional characters, Andre had flaws underneath all of his stardom. He was so young and egotistical that he thought he was invincible, so he turned to drinking and telling inappropriate jokes to keep up this appearance. Partying was a huge part of the wrestling industry and some people succumb to their vices easier than others. In Andre’s case, his alcoholism led him to complicate his gigantism, where his bones were already aching and he needed so many surgeries that he lost count. Despite his flaws, it’s impossible to hate Andre the Giant as a character. He is, after all, human. He still feels guilty during his times of sin, especially as it relates to his estranged daughter Robin, who penned an emotional letter to him while he was away. This is a reminder that nobody is invincible no matter how big and strong they are. That’s true storytelling at its best.

In addition to his struggles with his physical health, his emotional health took a toll on him as well. Despite being a mega star every country he wrestles in, he couldn’t find his permanent happiness. He took the little things for granted until it was almost too late to appreciate them once again. Being able to catch up with his friends back home in France was a huge emotional boost for him. Forging new friendships with his business manager and his bosses helped keep him in check. Being able to shoot movies and work with friendly actors helped him escape from wrestling when he needed to the most. In the end, being happy is all that matters in this world. If you hate life with a passion, you can’t be like Andre the Giant and be “closer to heaven”. It’s not a religious thing. It’s common sense that we all push aside at some point down the road. The key is to remember who we are and why we do what we do.

As short as this graphic novel is and as easy as it is to poke fun at the wrestling genre (again, I’m looking at you, Bill Maher), Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven is a brilliantly-written piece of art that should be appreciated by wrestling and non-wrestling fans alike. It’s not just a biography of a pop culture icon. It’s a story. A real, living, breathing, three-dimensional story about a human being overcoming gargantuan obstacles. A passing grade is what this graphic novel deserves.

"Theft By Finding" by David Sedaris

BOOK TITLE: Theft By Finding

AUTHOR: David Sedaris

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: LGBT Memoir

GRADE: Pass

From 1977 to 2002, David Sedaris keeps a personal diary of growing up as a working class gay man, traveling all over America and Europe to make ends meet. He comes in contact with all sorts of wacky characters, publishes many pieces of writing, puts on multiple plays, teaches classes full of ungrateful students, and takes classes of his own whether it’s learning to speak French or putting together an artistic sculpture. There’s never a shortage of weird moments in this memoir. In fact, if the book had been completely wholesome, it wouldn’t have been as entertaining as it was. Thank you, David Sedaris, for living through these strange experiences so that the rest of us don’t have to!

Speaking of strange experiences, the crazy people David describes in this book remind me a lot of anyone I would have to share public transportation with during my college days. Sometimes he’d cross paths with belligerent beggars who’d relentlessly swear at him whenever he refused to give them change. Sometimes he’d work with blatant bigots whether they were homophobes, racists, or sexists (this is not-so-shockingly frequent during his time in North Carolina in the 70’s and 80’s). And then there are just people who want to talk to nothing or have a good scream, also at thin air. No matter where in the world he goes, he can’t seem to get away from all the madness. He could go to heaven itself and it would still be full of awkward and uncomfortable people. These are not memories I necessarily want to relive, but I’m also grateful that I’m not alone in experiencing such discomfort.

The one part of the book that really got my blood boiling though was when David studied French overseas and had an overly aggressive teacher. This woman was a hybrid between the Scottish teacher from Pink Floyd the Wall and Gunnery Sergeant Hartmann from Full Metal Jacket. She yelled at her students, humiliated them, and did it all in the name of a “good education”. The only thing that angered me more than her attitude was that David Sedaris and many of his fellow students actually praised her for her tough love approach. Folks, I’ve had my fair share of bad teachers and if you ever caught me praising them, just do me a favor and shoot me in the head. The tough love approach doesn’t do anything except breed contempt. I’ll never understand why people say that they learn better from tough teachers. Again, this is not a memory I enjoyed reliving, but I’m also grateful to know that I’m not wrong in feeling the way that I feel.

One more thing I want to touch on. I know David Sedaris’s writing is supposed to be categorized as humor, but I can count on one hand how many times I’ve laughed throughout reading Theft By Finding. These weren’t even hyena laughs either, they were just casual chuckles. Granted, it doesn’t take away from the passing grade I’m giving this book, but a little true advertising would have helped. If anything, this memoir depressed me rather than made me believe in laughing out loud. It makes me appreciate my comfortable life even more, so at least I can be thankful for that. One of the lines that made me laugh though was that a gun store in New York was having a “blowout sale”. Oh, the irony!

Despite the minimal laughter I got from this book, it was still an entertaining read that I would recommend to anybody looking for good nonfiction. If nothing else, it’s a sobering look into the darkest parts of American and international life, especially North Carolina during the Reagan years. The bigotry that went on during those times was heartbreaking and overwhelming. The sad part is, we’re repeating all of that in today’s world in the age of Trump. A passing grade will got to this dark, dystopian piece of nonfiction!

"Truth Is Fragmentary" by Gabrielle Bell

BOOK TITLE: Truth Is Fragmentary

AUTHOR: Gabrielle Bell

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Travel Memoir

GRADE: Pass

Gabrielle Bell is a struggling comic book artist who puts herself on a schedule to draw every day despite her mental exhaustion. Her travels around the world give her more than enough creative fuel for an autobiography, both because of the experiences and the exhaustion. She specifically travels to places where other comic book artists meet, as a way to not only better her own style, but to market herself to the public. With a shy personality and an emotionally wrecked mind, putting herself out there becomes increasingly difficult as the graphic novel marches on.

The themes of shyness, stress, and depression are all relatable topics that most readers can get behind. The ways in which Miss Bell shows them are creative and razor-sharp, to say the least. For example, when asked about her shyness, the next panel shows Miss Bell morphing into a two-headed creature as she wracks her brain thinking of an answer. Being stressed out also takes its toll on her as evidenced by her sarcastic “cat riding” vacation photos. It gets so maddening at times for her that she pops Xanax on airplane rides and chews cocaine leaves just to numb the pain. While I don’t recommend going too hardcore with the medication you take, it’s certainly understandable.

Of all the places Gabrielle has traveled to, her visit to Columbia has to be the most eye-opening. We all have this image of Columbia being a corrupt place where guys like Pablo Escobar can run roughshod over everyone while the police do nothing about it. To some extent, that could very well be the case. But Gabrielle also knows that beneath all the violence and drugs, there’s a spark of humanity and a cry for help. As an open-minded liberal, she knows not to judge an entire culture based on the actions of a few people. That’s a lesson we all need to understand at some point, especially with our current politics the way they are now with the Donald in charge.

If there’s one complaint I have about this graphic novel, it’s that the themes I care about the most took too long to kick in. At first it seemed like Gabrielle was having a good time with all the traveling she did. Then you scratch beneath the surface and find that nothing is okay and she needs help. I wish that was more prevalent in the opening chapters of the book. Maybe it was already there and I missed it, but it just seemed to be a deviation from the near end of the story. If you don’t have a lot of patience as a reader, I can see how this would be a turn-off. But I must advise you to keep going until the very end. I did and I’m grateful for it.

It’s easy to tell that Truth Is Fragmentary was a labor of love for Gabrielle Bell and she should be rewarded for soldiering through the stress and depression. Buy a copy of her book and give her your undivided attention. If you like what you see, keep buying her works. She’ll be grateful for any attention she gets, as are many up-and-coming writers and artists. That’s what you have to remember as you go through this book: everybody starts somewhere and it’s the journey, not the destination, that matters the most. Thank you, Gabrielle Bell, for giving me something worthwhile to read! A passing grade for you, my dear!

Disturbance in the Machine

***DISTURBANCE IN THE MACHINE***

Whenever I write a full-length novel, I always want to use it as a platform to highlight important issues in my life. Occupy Wrestling is not only about wrestling, but it’s about Mitch McLeod’s hot temper. Filter Feeder is not only about environmental issues, but it’s about strained relationships. Watch You Burn is not only about anime, but also about schizophrenia. And last but not least, Demon Axe is not only about heavy metal music, but also about PTSD.

Of course, these novels (first draft or otherwise) were written long after a little anthology I had called Disturbance in the Machine, where multiple mental health issues were supposed to be tackled. Think of it as having the story structure of Tales From the Hood with the setting of an abandoned insane asylum. The stories were told by an ex-patient named Eric Bradley and they were listened to be the mother of a former patient Nicole McShane.

While these stories were supposed to talk about mental illness in a positive way, they ended up being “crazy” stereotypes. Serial killers who used scissors, ninjas in diapers, McDonald’s employees with anger management issues, and troubled teens with puppet fetishes were just a few of the characters presented in this anthology. In the end, these stories didn’t really accomplish anything, not even advancing the overall story to its climax.

And speaking of climaxes, Nicole McShane reveals herself to be a detective assigned to bring Eric Bradley to justice, which would probably make the reader wonder why she didn’t cuff him and stuff him earlier on in the book. Why all of these pointless stories if the purpose was to arrest him?

Speaking of pointless stories, the anthology ends with Eric telling a much longer story about an abandoned pig who ventures out to the city with other animals to try and survive the cruel outside world. The animals end up being therapy pets for a terminally ill child named Sam, who puts on his favorite Pink Floyd song “Pigs on the Wing” to end the story.

Surely, not everything you touch as an author will turn to gold. Sometimes it’s best to know which stories are worthy of being edited and revived and which ones should stay in the past. Because of this, Disturbance in the Machine no longer has a place in my archives. The main story made no sense, the meta stories made even less sense, and the pig stories made even less sense than that.

However, that doesn’t mean certain aspects of this dead-on-arrival novel can’t be used for future projects. If I were to salvage from the wreckage, I’d probably keep the title Disturbance in the Machine because of how cool it sounds. Telling stories in a mental hospital can work as long as the main characters of those stories are presented in a positive light and the harsh conditions of the hospital are vilified. Remember, a truly sympathetic character is the key to maintaining the reader’s interest (even if that character is sometimes an asshole). Even the pig story can have some meaning, but only as its own entity.

Another thing I’d like to keep from the Disturbance in the Machine canon is the poem that preceded it of the same name. It might be a part of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s basically a downer of a song describing the idea of not being human and going through life on autopilot. Somebody on Deviant Art wrote a counter-prose to that where he turned the gears and metal into flesh and organs and told the machine to “live”. That’s easily one of my favorite comments I’ve received on this site since I joined in 2005. Find Disturbance in the Machine (the song) in my gallery and read it and the comments below it to see why I feel the way I do.

Nostalgia: it ain’t what it used to be. That may be true, but it’s still a lot of fun to venture into a creative person’s past and see what he or she came up with back then. Although most of my creative projects back in the day are embarrassing to read now, it doesn’t they can’t be resurrected with my current writing skills and made into something beautiful. That’s the nature of art: creating something beautiful from the ashes. The movie Pink Floyd the Wall drives this point home when Pink smashes up his hotel room and then creates a collage out of the destroyed pieces.

I’m not recommending any of you do what Pink did in this movie, I’m just saying that creativity is the perfect therapy for rising from the ashes like a phoenix. I hope to one day do that with Disturbance in the Machine, whether it’s a novel, anthology, short story collection, or whatever. The truth of the matter is, though, that there are other novel ideas in my archives waiting to be realized. Booger the Clown and Chicken and Fries are the ones I’ve been thinking about the most, but I haven’t really fleshed them out in a scene-by-scene analysis yet. Maybe what I really need to do is randomly select which novel I work on next, just like I do with books to read and characters to use.

I wouldn’t mind working on Disturbance in the Machine again with the skills I have today, but it’ll probably be a backburner project since I don’t have any immediate ideas of what to do with it. Usually I have characters an a brief synopsis, but nothing more than that when it comes to novels. Maybe the point of this blog entry is to motivate myself to flesh out novel ideas more often instead of just letting them sit there doing nothing. I’d like to think that’s the case. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***MARIE KREPPS/ASHLEY UZZELL STORIES***

Over the past few months, Marie has been putting out short stories under both of her pennames. I’ve already reviewed Hunting Vampires with Grandma and gave it a passing grade. Now I’m currently reading Reaching For the Light (a mental illness-themed collaboration with TL Katt). All I have to do is read TL Katt’s half of the story and I’m ready to review this puppy and potentially give it an extra credit grade. The other two stories that I’ll eventually get to are Spunky and the Dolphin Palace (a children’s fantasy collaboration with her daughter Kyra Uzzell) and The Blood Files: the Case of Arnus Mortem (vampire horror collaboration with BJ Taylor). I can blow through these stories in the span of one or two days apiece. My hopes are high with how much energy I’ll have to do it since I’m going for longer walks during the day and getting my cardio jacked up. I’m already noticing a difference in my body. Hang in there, Marie-Pie: you’ll earn your high grades soon enough, my lovely friend.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’ve already submitted my entry for the WSS’s contest and it’s called Exile. There’s no need to advertise it again in this blog, so I’ll get straight to the point with the Dark Fantasy Warrior pictures that’ll come from that story. You’ve already seen Night Wolf and Maria Kevin on Deviant Art, Good Reads, and Face Book. The final character from that story that needs drawing is Stigma Dominick, the guilt-ridden necromancer. He definitely earned his sad face in that story and hopefully it’ll reflect in his artwork.

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

If a British exit is called Brexit and a French exit is called Frexit, what does that make a Serbian exit? Sexit? Sounds kinky. Of course, Serbia isn’t a part of the European Union, but just imagine the unintended comedy if they actually considered a Sexit. I’m getting douche chills just thinking about it. Hehe!

All the Same

(In the style of “Like Me and You” by Raffi)

Farage lives in England

Sarkozy lives in France

Harper lives in Canada

Putin lives in Russia

Kim-Jong lives in Korea

Trump lives in America

Christie lives in New Jersey

Scott lives in Florida

Walker lives in Wisconsin

Paul lives in Kentucky

Perry lives in Texas

Bush lives in dystopia

And each one is exactly the same

They bring the world so much shame

They’re the ones we ought to blame

For shit going up in flames

Where to Invade Next

MOVIE TITLE: Where to Invade Next
DIRECTOR: Michael Moore
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Political Documentary
RATING: R for language and nudity
GRADE: Extra Credit

As America falls behind in education, healthcare, employment, and overall happiness, Michael Moore sets sail to “invade” countries by “stealing” their ideas on how to run society so that he can bring them back to America. In Finland, there is no homework in school. In France, childhood nutrition is of utmost importance. In Italy, taking eight weeks of paid vacation is the law of the land. These, among other stress-relieving ideas, were originally American ideas, but somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten how to use them. Mr. Moore’s positive attitude toward bringing change to his home country with these now European ideas makes the educational experience that much more fun to watch on screen.

While Michael Moore was shooting footage in Italy, he said something that set the tone for the entire movie in terms of positivity and stress-relief: “I’m here to pick the flowers, not the weeds.” In other words, while he acknowledges that life isn’t perfect in these other countries, they at least got some things right. By “picking the flowers”, Mr. Moore is highlighting all of the positive things about these countries to give the people of America hope for a better day. The overall theme we’re dealing with is happiness among the citizens. When citizens are happy, they’re more productive, they’re more educated, and they learn to take care of each other in a civilized way. In Norway for example, the prison system focuses on rehabilitation and not revenge. They have only a 20% relapse rate while vengeful America has a whopping 80%. Holy shit!

There’s also a history lesson to be learned when it comes to American culture and it was highlighted in Michael’s trip to Germany, where the people take responsibility for their Hitler-tainted past and ensure it never happens again. In America, a country built on Indian genocide and black slavery, it took a few centuries to reinvent slavery and deny racism in the process. After the civil rights movement, black people and other minorities had equal rights. Years later, drugs marketed to the “urban folk” became illegal and minorities started getting locked up left and right. Many of the products we use today are thanks to free labor from the prison system. It’s disturbing as hell and Michael Moore has no problem shining a bright neon light on the problem.

Focusing on happiness and being taught history are both excellent traits to have in a movie, but the one thing that changed me as a human being was suddenly having the urge to travel to and maybe live in other places outside of America. I’ve been on vacation to Canada and I loved every minute of it. But what about Germany? What about France? What about Denmark? Now that I know what exactly is out there, the travel bug bit me like an alligator in the Florida Everglades. Yes, it would mean having to sit on a plane for hours on end, but I’m sure arrangements could be made ahead of time to make crossing the ocean bearable. Maybe there are airlines with beds instead of seats. Maybe I could book a private flight. Maybe I could take a cruise ship across the water. Rekindling my interest in culture and history was something that needed to happen since I’d been out of college since 2009 and I wasn’t taking in enough creative fuel.

Of course, there are going to be some Negative Nancies and Debbie Downers out there who will call Michael Moore’s cinema “bullshit”. I’m sure he’s heard that insult several times throughout his long and illustrious career. Hell, some directors tried to make entire documentaries slamming Michael Moore and his “scare tactics”. To those conservative critics who are so quick to judge, I have three words for you: “Look it up”. Get online and find out just how serene and peaceful Norway’s prison system is. Google just how much respect women have in Iceland since the worker’s strike in 1975. If you’re still steaming mad about what Mr. Moore talks about in his movies, maybe you should go to Italy and take an eight week vacation from work. Feel the stress and unhealthiness slipping away from your pain-wracked body!

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.

Home Alone

MOVIE TITLE: Home Alone
DIRECTOR: John Hughes
YEAR: 1990
GENRE: Christmas Comedy
RATING: PG for slapstick violence and mild language
GRADE: Pass


After being humiliated during a big family pizza dinner, all eight-year-old Kevin McAllister wants is to live by himself with nobody to take orders from. He’s scheduled to go on a trip to Paris with said family, but in the scuffle of trying not to miss their flight, they left little Kevin behind. He’s living large with his huge bowls of ice cream and R-rated movies, but when two burglars named Harry and Marv begin casing his neighborhood for houses to target, the McAllister house is on that list. While Kevin’s family is trying to book a flight back home, he sets up booby traps for the invading burglars.

Anybody who remembers watching this movie as a kid like I did knows the best part about it isn’t the love between family members or the magic of Christmas. It’s the creative traps Kevin sets for his burglar buddies. The screams of agony by both Marv and Harry are hilarious to listen to despite the horrific pain they go through. The traps include a blowtorch to Harry’s head, a nail through Marv’s bare foot, paint cans to both of their heads, and swinging on a zip line into the side of Kevin’s house. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the pet tarantula being placed on Marv’s face; that’ll give you non-PG nightmares.

The ingenuity of the individual traps is enough to satisfy the imagination and tickle the funny bone of any child watching this family classic. But what if you’re watching this movie as an adult? Does family love become that much more important to you? Do you cheer for Kevin’s family to come home on time to take care of their little guy? Do you have a special place in your heart for the bonding between Kevin and old man Marley?

Marley was rumored to have murdered his family and packed their bodies in the snow to create mummies. In reality, he was the sweetest guy anybody could ever know. He’s legitimately afraid of trying to get back together with his estranged son and granddaughter after a bad falling out. It’s Kevin who coaxes Marley into reconciling with the ones he loves and misses. Remember that episode of Seinfeld when George cries after watching Home Alone? “The old man got to me!” That will be any adult watching this movie if they have a sensitive heart.

And of course, whether you’re a kid or an adult, the one piece of stealth Kevin uses on intruders of all sorts is one you’ll definitely appreciate. He watches an R-rated movie and leaves it playing in the background so that the intruders will think there’s an adult home supervising Kevin. The Little Nero’s (which is an obvious parody of Little Caesar’s) pizza guy gets a surprise when he leaves the pizza at the doorstep and thinks he’s being shot at with a machinegun. Marv also gets surprised when he thinks two burglars are in the house ahead of him and Harry arguing over who gets the final score. In today’s world, we have technology where we can edit clips together to have those effects. But this was 1990, where technology wasn’t even close to where it is today. Kevin had to rely on his creativity and his brains to get the job done.

When Christmastime finally rolls around and you want some comedic nostalgia, look no further than the first Home Alone. You can laugh, love, and have your creativity ignited at the same time. Maybe if you’re a DM for Dungeons & Dragons, you can treat your fellow players to these kinds of traps. Although to be fair to reality, if anybody got their head burned with a blowtorch, they’d need immediate medical attention and to be locked in a burn ward. Kids, don’t try any of those traps at home; you will die!