Fred Durst from Limp Bizkit

 

Comedic Obligations

***COMEDIC OBLIGATIONS***

When you’re a writer and you feel obligated to include certain elements in your story, you can often find yourself not knowing what the hell you’re doing. For example, there’re a lot of TV shows, movies, and books out there that have shoehorned romances, so you feel like in order to stand a chance of being above average, you too have to have a romance despite not having the necessary experience or interest. The same thing is true with comedy. Although George Carlin remains one of my strongest comedic influences, not even his material is capable of making me into a carbon copy of him, which he wouldn’t want anyways because of his strong individuality. I can be funny sometimes, but when I feel obligated to make a joke in my stories, the writing suffers badly and I have to go through yet another round of editing. Tonight I’m counting down the three cringiest examples of jokes or cleverness gone badly in my stories. Why three? Because that’s three cringes too many.

I should go ahead and say that all three major examples come from Poison Tongue Tales, the first drafts at least. You won’t find the jokes there now, thank god. Let’s begin with the major money line from Stone Cold, a short story within that tome about a barbarian (surprise, surprise, surprise) who wants revenge on a warthog sorcerer and a female dark paladin for killing his wife. The barbarian wins the battle, but not without feeling like his heart is going to explode and a vein in his brain is going to pop like a balloon. While the female dark paladin is laying on the ground on her way to the afterlife, the barbarian leans down and says to her in a sexy voice…”Maybe I’ll get some practice on you before I meet my wife in heaven.” Practice doing what, you say? Well, if you can’t figure that out, I’m not going to tell you. Either way, you should be appalled at that, which is why that line no longer occupies my story.

And then the other two examples come from the same story within PTT. That story is called Streetwalker and that title alone should already have you feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of your stomach. The main villain, another barbarian (what a goddamn shock), wants to buy the services of a wizard prostitute to celebrate a major victory in battle. The prostitute turns him down, so instead of paying the full price, he tries to get it for free by attempting to rape her. Being that she’s a wizard and that she’s using her prostitution money to fund her magical education, the hooker throws every kind of elemental spell at the barbarian’s way. Fireballs, lightning bolts, poison bubbles, shadow spears, glacial spikes, you name it, she’s throwing it. She thinks she’s won the fight, but the spells have absolutely no effect on the barbarian. So what does the would-be rapist say? He says…”In order to cast the spells properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!” In the words of my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps, “Why doesn’t he just shoot her already? I’d rather get raped than listen to another one of his bad jokes.” You and me both, Babe-a-Licious Mondo. You and me both.

That Emmy Award-winning zinger should have been the end of it for Streetwalker, but it wasn’t. Instead the audience was treated to yet another “clever” piece of writing. It wasn’t really a joke nor was it intended to be misogynistic. It was just my obligations creeping through yet again. So what happens in Streetwalker (SPOILER ALERT) is that the barbarian has his way with the prostitute and leaves her bloody and bruised in a dark alleyway. Yes, she managed to knock is money bag loose (his actual money bag, not his testicles, you fools!), but even with all of that gold at her disposal, she still feels guilty for “allowing herself” to be raped in the first place. As part of this self-imposed guilt trip, I, the narrator, describe her ordeal as…(gulp)…I’m not sure if I should say this, but I’m going to if it means proving my point…the prostitute’s rape was…”a permanent part of her resume”. I can hear the dry heaves coming from miles away. Absolutely barferrific. No call for that. It got so bad that when Marie was writing her critique notes, she said, “Let’s keep this between you and me.” I couldn’t agree more, but here it is out in the open.

I didn’t count down those three examples because I wanted a laugh track to magically appear in my room. I counted them down because I wanted to be free from my obligations of putting comedy and/or clever lines in my writing. Yes, comedy is nice every once and a while, but only when done by a true master. Whenever I get into a heated argument with someone, my brain shuts down, so I can’t quickly access a savage one-liner to defeat my opponent. Why should I expect the same thing from my characters? Because Hollywood told me to do it? Because they do it so well in the WWE (which I still don’t watch anymore)? Why can’t two people just have a passionate conversation full of vitriol and curse words? Why does everything have to be funny all the time?

Now that I think about it, the funnier a movie or book tries to be, the more it comes off as bathos to an otherwise emotional moment. Bathos is defined as a descent from emotional highs and it’s usually achieved through comedy. Marvel movies have been accused of doing this a lot, especially with anything featuring Iron Man and his actor Robert Downey, Jr. When you rob your audience of an emotional high, you’re stealing a major part of the movie-watching experience. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I get hit in the feels, I don’t want my attacker to use kid gloves. That’s why I like books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Savior’s Champion. Sure, they have witty dialogue peppered here and there, but it doesn’t diminish the dramatic action of their respective stories.

I have not yet mastered the balance between (good) comedy and punches to the feels. I’ve been an amateur/professional author since 2001 and I still can’t do it. Is this something I should work on or should I abandon it altogether? Is comedy really that important or should I emancipate myself from the chains of obligation? See? Even that last line sounded too over-the-top to be considered comedic gold. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like laughing at bad jokes, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Chapter seven of this ongoing rewrite is edging towards the horizon. Windham managed to free himself from the shackles and now he needs to not only escape Shelly’s castle, but beforehand has to draw blueprints from the inside and collect a handsome payday from Shadow Asylum. Can he keep his emotions in check long enough to not spoil his escape? Can he watch one of his own being sold to a paying aristocrat without snapping again? Whatever the case may be, I’m free from the chains of comedic obligations, so there won’t be any jokes about Nickelodeon Slime Cannons or some shit like that (some of Shelly’s sex slaves are teenagers).

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

If Fred Durst started his own airline company, would he call it Air Bizkit? It makes me worry about the cabbage and broccoli platters he’d serve to the coach passengers. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the plane running out of fuel, although the weather would always be cloudy up there.

***POST-SCRIPT***

Okay, so I’m not completely emancipated.

"Outro" by Limp Bizkit

“I’m here to tell you why the new Limp Bizkit album is so important. That’s because CD’s like this one spare you from all the chart-topping, teeny-bopping, disposable happy horseshit that brings up the bile from the back of my neck. I have no time or tolerance for those shitty whack acts like that. I wouldn’t piss on their CD’s to put out a fire.”

If you’re fortunate enough to own the Significant Other album by Limp Bizkit, you know about this gem of a rant at the end the CD by Matt Pinfield. In his words, we need some rock and we need something that has balls. Now, just imagine for a minute if you were an author and somebody gave you the kind of praise that Matt Pinfield gave to Limp Bizkit. Wouldn’t you like to be known as an author who spares people from disposable happy horseshit? I’d jump at the opportunity in a heartbeat.

But that can’t always happen. After all, authors aren’t known for being as aggressive as heavy metal bands when it comes to their craft. Let’s take Stephen King for instance. Everybody knows how brutal he can be when he puts his mind to it. He’s even brutal in his criticism of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. But you have to admit that Stephen King’s aggression and Fred Durst’s aggression are two very different things. Authors have a quiet rage that settles down once pen is put to paper. Musicians and singers? They just scream it out until they’re mentally and physically exhausted.

When it comes to my writing, I will admit to being just as laidback and mellow as any other author. Yes, I can get down and dirty with the best of them, but there’s a reason why I’m not on stage right now strumming the hell out of an electric guitar. Aside from the obvious reason that I can’t play guitar, I don’t have the kind of aggression it takes to be in a metal band. I hardly even like it when I go to a concert and some rowdy asshole is yelling in the most obnoxious tone possible.

However, if you’re a literary critic and you feel like giving my e-books Matt Pinfield-style praise, I wouldn’t be against it. In fact, I would be grinning for the rest of my life. Deus Shadowheart and Dr. Scott Cain already have reputations of being literary badasses, even when their new home (Fireball Nightmare) is still under construction. If Deus heard that he spared people from disposable happy horseshit even during his most emotional moments, he would scream like the heavy metal freak he was meant to be.

Readers and heavy metal fans are two different groups of people. And yet, I represent both sides of the fence. I just might…you know…bring them together! Actually, no, I won’t. Alice Cooper, Max Cavalera, and Rex Brown have already done that with their published memoirs. Phil Anselmo will do it too once his book comes out in 2015. I’m not much of a fearless leader, but if Phil Anselmo and Max Cavalera bring me to the promised land, I will follow them every step of the way. Same thing goes for Fred Durst and Matt Pinfield.

　

***INTERNET DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

JAY HOWARD: Now come on, own up. Who really wrote “Sitka the Nose Biter”?

ME: I did, Jay-Pie.

JAY HOWARD: No blood and gore, explosions, or shootings? Not even poison? What happened to you while I was gone?!