A Love Letter to Advil

As a loud and proud member of Generation Y

I’ve got pain in my back and tears in my eyes

There’s a war going on in the base of my spine

Flamethrower marines screaming, “Your ass is mine!”

Battle axe barbarians chopping down the tree

Razor claw demons going on a killing spree

Can’t wait for the bone-cracker to fix me up

I need instant healing before I fucking erupt

They call it Advil, I call it magic in tablets

For when I can’t move without yelling, “Damn it!”

A bottle of water cold enough to freeze hell

Swallow the pills and the pain takes the L

Why go cold turkey when it feels so good?

It’s not like I’m floating through the neighborhood

It’s not like I’m a space cadet calling Major Tom

Or drunkenly fucking on Porn Hub dot com

Doesn’t have the same energy as cooking crack

Booger sugar wouldn’t do shit for my back

Don’t have a meth lab on the bottom floor

Not making poison pills out of a nuclear core

The magic medicine works, I’m off to bed

Maybe one day it’ll unfuck my head

I wrote a love letter to Advil liquid gels

More like a commercial with intent to sell

A drug deal without the DEA

Just a fucking parade from the FDA

Hardcore Hershel

HARDCORE HERSHEL

Get off my lawn or I’ll bury your keister

Explode your noggin like the eggs of Easter

One shell from my shotgun is all it takes

Go and get a job, you millennial snake!

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Calm your ass down, Mr. Hardcore Hershel

You’re sounding like an NRA commercial

I’m just walking along and enjoying the view

Stop being afraid of everything that’s new

HARDCORE HERSHEL

This gun’s been in my family since a million BC

I’ll be damned if it’s taken away by Washington DC

I’ll be damned if you come here looking for a handout

Original Go Fund Me was being a working class standout

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Pump those damn brakes, Mr. Badass Billy

Too much Fox News is making you sound silly

I’ll be on my way if you take your aim off me

If you do, nobody will think of you as a softy

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I forgot what the hell I was jibber-jabbering about

Something about your generation doing dumb shit for clout

Eating Tide Pods and putting Gorilla Glue in your hair

I’d never do those things because I’ve got a brain to spare

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Take it nice and easy, Mr. Army Man Arthur

There’s no reason to make your heart work harder

Not all of us are like that, perhaps none of us are

Your brain is being washed by Boomer Bill Maher

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I fought in every war that this country has waged

I’ve earned my right to bask in my elderly age

Knowing that you kids will inherit this world

Makes me want to double over and unleash some hurl

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Slow the fuck down, Mr. Bullet Bubba-Bob

You can’t live forever whether you like it or not

Just raise the minimum wage and forget my age

Let someone else have the spotlight on the stage

HARDCORE HERSHEL

You’ll have to pry this gun from my cold dead hands

You’ll have to spray my red blood across the land

When was the last time you fought a war in the sands?

I’m the king of the hill and you don’t stand a chance

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t want any trouble

And for you that goes double, Mr. Barney Rubble

BOOM!

HARDCORE HERSHEL

The world is mine! The world is all mine, you whippersnapper!

HEART ATTACK NOISES

FINAL LINE

And this, boys and girls, is why we can’t have nice things. The end!

Anti-Millennial Bigotry

***ANTI-MILLENNIAL BIGOTRY***

I’m not a confrontational person by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t talk about politics on a frequent basis and I dread getting in debates with people. However, as someone who was born in 1985, I feel like if I don’t write this blog entry, it’ll be a missed opportunity to put myself out there. This is a sensitive topic for me, so bear with me for a minute. I’m talking of course about ageism, particularly against people born in the 80’s and 90’s a.k.a. Millennials.

Being a Generation Y member should never be associated with laziness or selfishness. Those are stereotypes based on limited information. Some Millennials fit the stereotypes, some don’t, just like with any other group of people. It’s like saying all black people love fried chicken or all gay people think about sex 24/7. Again, those are stereotypes and they don’t apply to everyone. Yet ageism against young adults seems to slip through the cracks and is widely accepted by both liberals and conservatives of older generations. They see some of us texting on our phones and think the entire population is suddenly doomed.

No generation is without their own set of stereotypes. For example, I could easily label Generation X members as whiny drug addicts or Prozac chugging slackers, but I’m not going to say any of those things, because I’m not an asshole. I could also say Baby Boomers and Great Generation members are a bunch of boring storytellers who can’t shut up about walking 100 miles in the snow, but again, that would make me an asshole and that’s not who I am. So why would it be okay to say that every millennial on this planet is a self-important text-messaging queen? Every last one of them? Not just some? Not just a few? All of them?

As a millennial myself, I do admit to fitting in with at least SOME of the stereotypes against us, but not because my birth year was magically selected to be 1985. I’m open about the fact that I’m unemployed and live with my parents.

I’m not unemployed because I’m lazy and therefore don’t want a job. I’m unemployed because after sending my resume to a bunch of different work sites and doing countless interviews, the bosses still said no. It happens a lot, especially since millennials hit their pique during the Bush-era recession. Older people love to blame laziness, but that’s simply not true. Truth is, you can dress in your nicest clothes, you can work your hardest, you can give the most agreeable answers, and give 100% of yourself during an interview, but in the end, you, the Generation Y member, are not the one who makes the decisions in the workplace. Otherwise, unemployment wouldn’t be a major stereotype for my generation. If we could work, we would. We know full well that money isn’t everything, but it is something.

I don’t live with my parents because of financial worries. I live with them for two main reasons. One, I love being in their company. Two, we have a symbiotic relationship where we help each other. As Baby Boomers, my mom and step-dad can’t do as much physical labor as they could in their younger years. My mother has hip and knee problems that she can only find relief from on a temporary basis. My step-dad Dale has been battling a kidney stone since the last month. While I don’t enjoy heavy lifting or any other kind of strenuous labor, I do it because I love my parents and I don’t want them to get hurt. If you can’t take care of each other, who can you take care of? It’s natural to want to surround yourself with people who make you feel good and that’s something that spans all generations.

While I’ll always condemn people who unfairly criticize young adults for laziness and entitlement, there is one thing I will share common ground with them on: smart phones. I agree with the idea that being in real world company should trump text messaging or playing videogames on a smart phone. It’s a basic form of respect. Corey Taylor from Slipknot once smacked a phone out of someone’s hands during a performance because that audience member was texting instead of watching the show. I grinned from ear to ear at Mr. Taylor’s display.

I myself don’t need a smart phone for anything that my desktop computer can do better. I have a generic cell phone that I only use for emergencies, whether it’s bumming a ride or needing to know where a family member is. And before you criticize me for not having my own car and therefore being a lazy millennial, I should let you know that crashing on the highway and spreading one’s guts all over the tarmac isn’t a pleasant experience for any age group.

Millennials are just like any other group of people in this world. Some are good, some are evil. Some are smart, some are dumb. Some are happy, some are sad. There will always be standouts who defy stereotypes no matter what group of people you’re talking about. George Carlin, a member of the Great Generation, is definitely not a droning storyteller; he’s one of the funniest comedians of all time. The main cast of the new Ghostbusters movie are not a bunch of bikini-wearing sex machines; they’re normal women who do extraordinary things in their movie. Q-Tip, a born-again Muslim rapper, is not secretly plotting to blow up buildings with a suicide vest; he’s putting out kick-ass music and helping younger rappers get noticed.

While ageism should be recognized as being like any other form of bigotry, it somehow became normal along the way. Bill Maher, a liberal-libertarian pundit, once called ageism “The last acceptable prejudice” and then turned around and referred to Millennials as “Generation Ass” because he saw a picture on Twitter of a woman with a giant posterior. Ageism has become one of those things that spans many belief systems and cultures while no real progress is being made against it. There are even members of Generation Y who criticize their own age group.

I don’t know how young people ageism became acceptable, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with all of this sweet technology and “free shit” we have. No generation wants to pass the torch to the next. I even had a hard time passing the torch to Generation Z because of all the Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez songs that were being published. Reina, my Generation Z niece, doesn’t fit those stereotypes because she’d rather listen to bands like Breaking Benjamin and 3 Doors Down. That’s right, folks. I used to be just another ignorant ageist myself. And then I posted a 2009 essay where I joked about ruling over teenagers with an iron fist if I ever became an English teacher. That didn’t go over too well with the Deviant Art community, because surprise, surprise, ageism is just as bad as any other form of prejudice. As we all know, prejudice isn’t just insulting, but it can hurt us on an even deeper level whether it’s with employment, police treatment, or social status.

I’m going to ask something that’s been asked many times before, but nobody gave a definitive answer to. Can’t we all just get along?

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when a McDonald’s employee goes berserk?

A: Minimum rage.

Getting With the Times

***GETTING WITH THE TIMES***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

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

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

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

　

***JANUARY FIRST***

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

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

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

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

Mickey Mouse Is My Step-Father

The stability in my family hasn’t always been…well…stable. Like any other family, we’ve had ups and downs and all arounds. One night in 2010 when I fell asleep in my cozy beddy-bye, my family life had changed drastically.

In this dream, I woke up on a Hawaiian beach with gorgeous sunlight, fluffy sand, and cool blue water. What better way is there to start a dream? I smell something cooking in the kitchen and drag my heavy ass out bed to follow the scent like a bloodhound. Yes, there is indeed something cooking on the stove, but the person who normally does the cooking, my step-father Dale, is no longer there.

In a happy and bubbly voice, my mom turns to me and says, “Garrison, meet your new step-father Mickey!” Mickey? Who’s Mickey? Mickey Rooney? Mickey Rourke? Mickey Keegan? No, my friends. The Mickey in question was none other than…Mickey Mouse.

That’s right, ladies and gentleman. My loving and supportive mother divorced Dale without telling me and married a fucking cartoon character. This same cartoon character looked at me with his happy facial expression and said, “Good morning, bucko! Would you like some Mickey Mouse pancakes? You can’t start the morning without a hearty breakfast.”

At this point, I didn’t know whether to face-palm or cry. Maybe I could have done both. Mickey Mouse was going to be my step-father for all eternity (or at least until the dream was over). That meant he was in charge of driving me when I needed transportation (probably in a wind-up car), giving me girl advice (which would probably be “Cheer up, bucko, and smile!”), and just being there for me when I’m sad (which means putting mouse ears on me when I’m not looking).

Mickey Mouse is an adorable character, but he’s not my father, blood or otherwise. He can’t do all the things that Dale does. He can’t even do the things that my blood father can do and my blood father lives out in the middle of nowhere. But wait a minute, why am I complaining about my parents when I’m a full grown adult? Oh yeah, that’s right, because I’m a Generation Y member and being one requires unemployment in a ravaged economy.

Perhaps this is my subconscious telling me that it’s time to put myself out to the world and make my own destiny. I very well could live with a Mickey Mouse-like figure as an authoritative voice in my life. I’m always living by the mantra of “raging against the machine”, so maybe this is my subconscious telling me to put my money where my mouth is.

I would, but money isn’t the taste I need right now. I have all the money I’ll ever need. It’s life in general that I need a savory taste of. I have friends and family that I can go to, but I need more interaction with them than I already have.

If I stay lonely for too long, Mickey Mouse is always there to comfort me with his gloved mousy hand. I’m being forced to choose between the taste of Mickey Mouse pancakes with syrup and the taste of fresh air that being enclosed in my prison cell, I mean, room can’t provide.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Is all the world jails and churches?”

-Rage Against the Machine rapping “Vietnow”-

"How Not to Write a Novel" by Howard Mittelmark & Sandra Newman

An unfortunate stereotype that comes with being a Generation Y member is that we suck at being grammatically correct, especially when it comes to text messaging and having conversations on the internet. We’d rather LOL at our BFF’s than write ten-page essays on nuclear physics. The thing about this stereotype is that it’s reinforced by the fact that more college and high school students these days are doing poorly on English exams, much worse than Baby Boomers and Generation X members before them. If you want a nonfiction book that will save you from the perils of being part of this statistic, I just may have the thing for you. Christians have the bible, Muslims have the Quran, and now young English students have “How Not to Write a Novel” by Howard Mittelmark and Sandra Newman. Incorrect grammar is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all of the common mistakes this book documents. Stereotypical characters, hyperbolic descriptions, plot holes that can’t be pieced together easily, minimalism, this book does it all when it comes to pointing out faults in manuscripts the authors have received before. I’ll bet you my life savings that you as a writer have made at least one or two of these many mistakes sometime during your young writing career. When I was in my teens, I engaged in minimalism. In my mid-20’s, it was hyperbolic descriptions. I do my best to correct the mistakes I make, but this particular nonfiction book isn’t a substitute for a personal editor. The book is a general list of common errors while a personal editor gets to the root of what a budding author does specifically. If nothing else, you should at least get a kick out of reading some examples of the mistakes made. You want to hear a few of them? Here they are. No author, under any circumstances, should describe a piece of sausage as looking like a penis, especially when they’re trying to sell it as being delicious. And there definitely shouldn’t be anybody who would describe the flow of a waterfall as being comparable to drunken piss. Even in comedic novels, these are laughable for all the wrong reasons. Speaking of comparisons, it’s not necessary to pepper every other line with them as a way of showing instead of telling. Simply saying things like “raven black hair” and “rose red lips” to describe the beauty of a female character should be sufficient. It paints a picture and the reader is very happy. You know who else is going to be happy? The next budding author who buys this book. If you learn nothing else from it, you should at least get a few giggles out of the examples of bad writing. Giggling is the best medicine, never forget proverbs.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are some large organizations out there whose names are a little mixed up. The Department of Water and Power. Well, water and power don’t really go together, you’ll get fucking electrocuted. The Food and Drug Administration. Well, with most drugs, you don’t have any food. Except for marijuana, but they shouldn’t be bothering people with marijuana in the first place. Then you have that really interesting organization The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Do I even have to talk about this one? Bad combination. Here’s what you do. You call the police The Department of Power and Firearms. Then you have the Food and Water Administration since those are two things you need to survive. Then you’re left with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Drugs, keep all the good shit in one place.”

-George Carlin-