The Friars Club

 

Yes, I know the Friars Club is defunct now, but if they ever get revived, Benny boy would make a hell of a roasting victim. He loves being the victim. It's not second nature to him. It's first!

Ms. Rachel, Sweetheart of the Year

 

Mayim Bialik

 

Stanzi Potenza vs. Gun Waifu

 

Mika's Rhetoric vs. Ethan Klein

 

Liora Rez, Israel's Favorite Butt Kisser

 

David Draiman from Disturbed

 

Breaking Benjamin...Literally

 

You Are the Reason

You are the reason you lost all your friends

You are the reason your romances end

You are the reason you’re all alone

You are the reason and you can’t atone

 

You are the reason we hate religion

You are the reason we hate politicians

You are the reason we have division

I’m starting to think this was your mission

 

You are the reason the world’s on fire

You are the reason we hang by a wire

You are the reason we’re too damn tired

To raise any children in a world of killin’

 

You are the reason we cannot forgive you

You are the reason you need all the tissues

You are the reason for your own damn tears

You didn’t lead with hope, you led with fear

 

Now who could I be talking to when I say “you”?

A former friend? Some relatives? Some troll with loose screws?

The answer is yes, you and all the rest, and I said it best

Here comes Armageddon, we won’t let you forget it

 

I am the reason you’re gone forever

I am the reason we never speak ever

I am the reason for all the boundaries

I set them up and I say it proudly

 

I am the reason my life is much better

I am the reason, I am the trendsetter

I am the reason why I still have hope

Let you back in? That’s a big nope!

Suck It Up

VERSE 1

When you drop bombs on your least favorite race

The whole world watches with tears on their face

When you cry Cancel Culture after the fact

It should be you in a coffin lying on your back

You never had to suffer like the ones you’ve killed

Just ask your billionaire daddies to pay all the bills

Sugar baby, crybaby, whatever you are

Take your insults on the chin like a boxing superstar

 

PRE-CHORUS

When we call you out on your disgusting violence

The Wahmbulance gets you, let’s flash the sirens

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

VERSE 2

When you fire your gun at the poor and innocent

You better expect an international incident

A golden badge is not a shield from callouts

A precinct won’t save you from nuclear fallout

Your critics don’t have missiles to level the land

They’ve got two middle fingers, one in either hand

Maybe a brick if they’re feeling kind of froggy

A bloody concussion to make you feel groggy

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

 

BRIDGE

A bruised ego or a rotting corpse?

Which one’s worse? The latter, of course

You play the victim and reverse criticism

Easy as pie, ‘cause you control the system

 

CHORUS

Suck it up! You’re guilty as charged!

Suck it up! Yet you’re still at large!

Suck it up! Answer for your sins!

Suck it up! It’s not a war you will win!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Suck it up!

Do the world a favor and shut the fuck up!

The Happy Park

ACT I

Welcome to The Happy Park

Frisbees thrown, puppies bark

Novels read underneath the trees

Relaxing in the warmest breeze

Children play on slides and swings

Monkey bars and trampolines

Even when the sun has set

The dark day isn’t over yet

ACT II

Wonder why the grass is colorful?

Elves are buried in shallow holes

Why’s there dragon fruit on trees?

A faerie army fell to their knees

Why are the swing sets so sturdy?

Dwarven bones thick and dirty

No Happy Park without sacrifice

Your favorite creatures cold as ice

ACT III

You don’t have to ask questions

As rainbow bubbles grab attentions

Live, laugh, play every day

Nothing wrong with our brutal ways

Your parents pay their tax dollars

So colorful critters will die and holler

Don’t mind the rumbling in your guts

Work a little harder if you’ve got the nuts

CONCLUSION

If you don’t appreciate genocide

We can always take a bulldozer for a ride

Be grateful for the shallow beauty

Picketing is for the fruity

We got the magic wands and staffs

Sorcerers and their belly laughs

Eight foot tall barbarians

Back up your youthful arrogance

Have a nice day! Come back tomorrow

Take the edge off your so-called sorrows

Play in the park and be grateful

Who cares if its history is bleak and hateful?

Terrible Flaws

 Anytime a book, movie, or TV show receives praise for having “flawed characters”, it makes me wonder what exactly those flaws were. Are all flaws created equal or are some more forgivable than others? Can characters with the least forgivable flaws find redemption by the end of the story or does that come off as forced? Are some character traits considered flaws when they don’t deserve to be? Do villains’ flaws (aside from the obvious) have to be conquered just like the heroes’?

I’m asking all of these questions because I’ve been in this writing game for many years and I still haven’t mastered the art of the flawed character. I’m always afraid of making a character so flawed that they’re no longer likeable in any capacity. Even dumpster fire human beings can be liked by the readers, but how do I achieve this? Well…let’s run these questions through a battery of tests, shall we?

Suppose you have a protagonist (like every story does). He’s got acrobatic fighting skills, he’s got magical powers for days, and he’s perfected the art of the insult. He wears spiked metal armor and carries a sword bigger than his entire body. He’s got long purple hair that has probably been washed with Head & Shoulders more times than he’s been in combat. He’s got striking golden eyes that can weaken the knees of every woman around him. His major flaw? He’s a genocidal lunatic. He doesn’t just go in for the kill. He destroys entire groups of people until they’ve gone virtually extinct. He feels no remorse for his actions and openly mocks any group that he’s wiped off the face of the earth. 

Are you cringing in disgust yet? Why? You like flawed characters! Killing large numbers of people is a HUGE flaw for somebody to have. I certainly hope he can overcome it! Now that I think about it, there is an example of someone like this. His name is Vegeta and he’s from the Dragon Ball franchise. In the beginning of the series, he killed off entire populations from any given planet and sold the planet for a quick buck. Near the end of the series, he’s a loving father and husband, but he’s still salty as fuck. Despite his murderous past, Vegeta is still the most popular character in the series.

Alright, alright, alright, that’s just one example of a successful flawed character, though. Maybe genocide isn’t enough to turn people off (which actually scares me a little bit). Okay, how about this: you’ve got a protagonist (noticing a theme here?). He’s rich beyond his wildest dreams. He’s got more abs than he knows what to do with. His business suits, sports cars, and summer homes all cost him more than the national debt allows. He can sex up any woman from the moment they smell his cologne. 

His major flaw? He’s got a serious case of flatulence that could trigger climate change and successfully take away Greta Thunberg’s future. What? You like flawed characters! His farting gets in the way of his romantic life and political aspirations, so it’s a real flaw! He can easily overcome it by getting a colonoscopy and finding out what the fuck is going on in his ass. But once he finds out what’s actually in there…then the plot thickens quicker than one of his diarrhea dumps. Could you get behind a character like this? Hopefully, not literally since we’ve established that his farts smell like dead skunks and toxic waste.

Okay, maybe bathroom humor isn’t your thing. It certainly isn’t mine. So how about this: you have a protagonist (yet again). He’s a five-star general who commands the respect of everyone he meets, even people outside of his jurisdiction. When he tells you to do pushups, it won’t matter if you just got your COVID vaccine, because you’ll do them anyways. When he tells you to run ten miles without stopping, it won’t matter if you’re bound to a wheelchair, because you’ll find a way. 

His major flaw? His voice is so cartoonishly annoying that subordinates only do what he says so that he’ll shut up and leave them alone. That’s not respect for authority; that’s hatred for irritating people. When the time comes to actually take him seriously, nobody listens to reason, because the general’s voice shatters their eardrums every time. Do you still think all flaws are created equal?

Now I don’t want any of you to think that I’m advocating for Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus. Maybe there was a time in my childhood when beefy barbarians who never lose were appealing to me. Maybe there was a time when undeniably hot chicks won me over just because. But as I got older, the shine wore off in a big fucking hurry. You think Alex De Large from A Clockwork Orange would have become as iconic as he was if he took the role of an axe-wielding ninja-knight who remained undefeated forever? You think Vic Mackey from The Shield would have been convincing as a corrupt LAPD detective if he didn’t occasionally lose from time to time? We don’t want to see our favorites lose, but if they don’t, then the story becomes boring and nobody cares.

But at the same time, we have to come to terms with what flaws we’re willing to forgive and which ones make a character impossible to love. Maybe the flaws we can’t forgive are overcome by the end of the story. Maybe a Klansman who uses the N-word five hundred times in a two-minute conversation can see the light and become so far to the left that he falls off the spectrum completely. Maybe a CEO who makes money off of his impoverished employees can become homeless and experience the plight of his underlings firsthand. So maybe the question isn’t, “Is this flaw bad?” Maybe the question is, “Can this flaw be redeemed?”

By that logic, even Cthulu can be redeemed despite the fact that he’s an intergalactic squid who destroys worlds effortlessly and drives the survivors to infinite madness. Maybe Cthulu has a slight moment of guilt when a feral child tries to reach out to his heart. It’s one thing to drive adults to madness, but feral children never had a chance to even acquire a first language. So Cthulu’s heart is broken beyond repair, but his universe is not, so he creates paradise out of his destruction. Would you still find it in your heart to forgive this flawed character despite what he did to get to this point? Did Hitler need a hug? Does Donald Trump need tender loving care? Does Vladimir Putin need a girlfriend who will cradle his head in her lap and stroke…whatever hair is left on his head?

I guess it all boils down to whether or not you as a reader believe in redemption arcs. I personally can’t get enough of them as long as they’re not rushed and forced. If you don’t want spoilers for A Dog’s Journey, then stop reading and have a nice day. Gloria is a toxic mother who spends her nights partying and drinking rather than taking care of CJ and her dog. So what does Gloria do? She gets sober and reconnects with CJ, giving her letters from her father that later serve as creative fuel for her songs, thus launching a successful music career. That’s one example of a redemption arc I can get behind. Gloria is indeed a flawed character, downright disgusting at times. Neglect and abuse are horrible things to do to a child. And yet, she won me over by the movie’s end. Well done!

Perhaps the lesson I’m trying to teach myself is to not be afraid of the flaws I give my characters. I have enough faith in my writing abilities that the characters can be redeemed by the story’s end. And if I haven’t done that, it’s okay, because that’s why our stories go through multiple drafts worth of edits and rewrites. Unlike a brain surgeon, you don’t have to get it right the first time if you’re writing a story from scratch. Be bold. Be brave. Let your book babies take flight. You can’t cradle them forever and if you do, you’re worse than the mother from Pink Floyd the Wall, a movie with a VERY flawed protagonist, yet one who is easy to root for.

Destroying the Earth

Whether you’re watching your Saturday morning cartoons or playing your favorite Super Nintendo game, sometimes you just have to ask to nobody in particular: “Why does the villain want to destroy the earth?” Doesn’t matter if the villain is a robot, an alien, a monster, or an ordinary human with extraordinary powers; chances are good he wants to destroy the world for no fucking reason other than to flex his muscle. You hear him cackle like a madman. You hear him barking orders at his minions even though he’s capable of doing a much better job. But that’s about all you hear. No motives, no thorough planning, and if he does have the latter, it’ll be explained in intricate detail to the protagonist rather than using that precious time to murder the motherfucker. All you know about the villain is that he wants to destroy the earth, but you don’t know why.

Do you realize what happens when the earth is destroyed? There’s a very real possibility that the main villain lives on planet earth, so if he destroys the whole fucking thing, where is he going to live? He’d better have a spaceship handy. If he does, what planet is going to take him in whilst being able to support human life? Even if the planet did support human life, why would they willingly want a genocidal maniac as part of their world population? Does the villain want to destroy his new home world too? Is that all this asshole does on his spare time? Just destroy worlds haphazardly without thinking about the consequences of mass genocide? At least Freiza from Dragon Ball Z had a motive. He wiped out the planet’s population and sold the planet to the highest bidder. He was a businessman. A ruthless businessman, but as we’ve seen with corporate America, that’s really a redundant phrase at this point.

I suppose any villain could use the CEO excuse to destroy random planets, but people who have seen Dragon Ball Z would know where the motive came from and accusations of plagiarism would be louder than a Super Saiyan screaming before he throws a Kamehameha wave…out of his ass…after eating a hundred dollars worth of Taco Bell food. Yes, I know, there’s no such thing as an original idea. Everything comes from somewhere. But surely there are more motives for committing genocide on a planet’s population than just dollars and cents, right? Yes, dollars and cents are very enticing to villains with a shallow point of view, or even a desperate debtor. But it’s hardly the only reason why someone would want to destroy a whole planet.

Destroying the earth seems to have lost its luster over time due to the backwards logistics of it all. But it doesn’t have to be. Part of the fun of being a professional author is spinning tropes on their heads. Maybe the threat of global destruction is part of an ultimatum. “Give me a gazillion dollars or I’m going to blow up a major world city every hour on the hour.” We’ve seen that in movies before, but why would a genocidal lunatic need a gazillion dollars? Climbing out of poverty? Buying a vacation home in somewhere other than a targeted city? Clinging to an expensive cocaine and hooker addiction? These are all solid reasons for world destruction. They’re shitty things to do, but as far as character arcs go, they’ll go a long way in giving villains all three of their much-needed dimensions. The audience will laugh at villains for being cheesy and one-dimensional. Why not make them blackmailers of the most disgusting kind?

But why is it just blackmail? Can a villain want to destroy the earth just for the satisfaction of watching the world burn? Dead bodies can be very satisfying to a villain with a constant Joker’s grin. But after one dead body, he’d have to keep achieving that high in order to maintain satisfaction. When the bodies run out, then what is he going to do? But maybe he will find satisfaction in worldwide genocide, because he sees his abusers in every person he meets. Or maybe he was raised with a Nazi ideology and sees himself as the purest human. Maybe the parents who gave him his Nazi ideology were abusive themselves. In the bloody war between nature and nurture, nurture wins hands down.

Can a villain be born evil, though? Certain genes could allow that to happen, like a predisposition for psychopathy, sociopathy, and narcissism. Maybe the villain is beyond help and can’t help himself when he kills large numbers of people. Maybe he legitimately doesn’t see the consequences of his actions and kills just because. But when he’s criticized or punished for his heinous crimes, he suddenly plays the sympathy card like a little coward. We’ve seen that in movies and TV shows before, because it continues to work. Hell, we see this shit in today’s world news with certain politicians, pundits, and bullies in general. I’m sure they’d love to watch the world burn just because.

What if a magical voice tells the villain to commit worldwide genocide and will only give him relief from his mind-fuck when he completes his task. Where is this voice coming from? The depths of hell? A sorcerer long believed to be dead? A bug implanted in his ear? A caterpillar that crawls up his nose and infests his brain? A psychoactive drug with micro-insects swimming through it? But if you as a writer choose to go down this route, you’ll want to remove it as far as you can from actual real world schizophrenia. Schizophrenics have enough stigmas attached to them as it is. The magical voice has to be purely from a magical or science-fiction standpoint. You can even take a page out of the Cyberpunk 2020 playbook and have the cyborg lose his humanity after overusing his mechanical limbs.

There are thousands of reasons why a villain would want to destroy the earth. Pick one and stick with it. You could have a laughing skeleton in a dark cloak carrying a fiery battleaxe, but unless you give him some reasons for doing the things he does, he’s going to come off as cheesy and clownish. Imagine if Darth Vader, one of the most iconic Star Wars villains of all time, destroyed worlds willy-nilly and had no real reason for it. He lusted for power, above all else. It’s a simple motive, but power is enticing to psychopaths who need to be in control of their environment at all times. Is the lust for power over-used? Could be. But if everything else about the villain clicks, whether it’s the dialogue, the presentation, or the power he already has, then the audience will forgive you if you use the power-hunger trope one more time.

I’m currently in the process of rewriting a fantasy novel called Beautiful Monster for the third time in a row. For the first couple of drafts, Queen Shelly Atwood had no real reason for being a sex-crazed rapist who wanted to get as much power as she could. But in this current draft, she likes having the power and influence of a queen because it turns her on. The money she makes selling brainwashed sex slaves affords her pleasures, comforts, and conveniences she wouldn’t have had as a poor peasant. Power is addictive and so is the one-percent lifestyle. She’s gotten so used to being powerful that she must have things her way all the time. She doesn’t want to lose even a smidgen of that power to anybody. Whether she gains it from raping a future sex slave or making shady business deals, she’ll take it where she can get it. With this much power and money comes possessions that she wouldn’t otherwise have. Scary artwork, pornographic novels, ice cream ingredients, fine wine, powerful drugs, she’s like a spoiled brat on Christmas, but every day is Christmas and every night is Halloween for the ones she steps on.

Any goofy character can be made into a convincing badass as long as there are layers and dimensions to their personality. Any atrocious act of genocide can be justified in the mind of the villain as long as that justification is made loud and clear. Evil for the sake of evil comes across as hokey no matter what the story is. Evil has a purpose. Evil has a background story. Evil has personality. The villains themselves might even insist that they’re the good guys of their own story. They’re destroying the earth to put the miserable population out of their respective misery. They’re committing genocide because the population is somehow responsible for shunning him from all forms of society. The villain is killing at random because he has a heightened sense of alertness that won’t allow him to be taken by surprise even by the most mundane human being or animal.

The table is set, fellow authors. Flesh out your villains, flesh out your stories, flesh out your worlds, and make sure your audience notices all the hard work you put into your craft. Even the most random occurrences happen for a reason despite the reason not being readily available to the victims. They should be available to your readers, though. They’re not stupid. They see right through laziness. You don’t want to be the author who gives them a whole lot of nothing, right? Show us why the villain is evil, don’t just say he wants to destroy the earth. Any clown in a spaceship can destroy the earth. But a true villain can haunt the minds of his audience while he’s doing it.

Nation of Genocide

VERSE 1

Summer sun, waterless desert

Dead bodies resting forever

A nation built on oppression

Let’s hear your confession

Not a bunch of what-abouts

You’re worthy of the shouts

Graveyard on your conscience

Relax in your highest office

CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

VERSE 2

Business deals, cheap entertainment

Marginalization and detainment

Dungeon torture, decapitation

Welcome to the murder nation

CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

BRIDGE

You can call it social progress

I call it blood and gore offence

The only reason you hold office

Is filthy money in your pockets

VERSE 3

Not a nickel or the thinnest dime

You won’t get a penny of mine

Not a quarter with a buffalo’s ass

Your economy must collapse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

Nation of ignorance!

Defend your values with vigilance!

Nation of Armageddon!

A fake smile is your secret weapon!

Coffin Crusher

VERSE 1

Wake up from the underground

Casket makes a creaking sound

Time to hunt some fuckers down

Make the Spirits of Evil proud

Step up to the hulking mummy

You ain’t got a chance, sonny

Rip the lining from your tummy

Sell your hide for big ass money

CHORUS

Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 2

Let’s all do the dance of death

Psychotic spirits in our heads

We all know how we’ll die

Rotten fist between the eyes

Brains turned to sloshing shit

Hearts roasting on a stick

Flesh ripped up like love letters

Viscous blood tastes much better

CHORUS

Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 3

The one-man killing machine

Left behind a genocidal scene

Rivers of blood down his throat

Oceans of tears, where’s the boat?

Mountains of flesh masticated

Hollow corpses exsanguinated

A meal fit for the gods themselves

Bon appetite, see you all in hell

CHORUS

Coffin Crusher! X4

FINAL VERSE

Back to the casket for a deep sleep

Pray the devil your soul to keep

If you die before you awaken

Know that you have been forsaken

CHORUS

Coffin Crusher! X4

Incelbordination, Chapter 17

“Antero…I know the two of us can’t agree on a damn thing right now…I know all that incel propaganda has made you completely bat shit insane…but what I want to find out is…what the hell are you doing in my dorm…with a machete?!”

The trench coat-clad terrorist snickered while sharpening his blade with a whetstone, looking so casual like this was a part of his every day life. “What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here, buddy? Shouldn’t you be evacuated right now with the rest of the normies and manlets? It’s not my fault you didn’t get the memo, though you kind of have an excuse since you spent the last few nights in jail.”

Clenching his pain-wracked fists, Oswald gritted his teeth and said, “No, Antero. It’s your fault that this shit is happening to begin with! You caused all of this pain because you couldn’t find a girlfriend! You know what? I wanted to believe in your rhetoric. I wanted to believe I could start a revolution with just my two fists. And then I figured out a long time ago that if I gave you an enema right now, you could sleep in a matchbox.”

“Paraphrasing Christopher Hitchens isn’t going to save you from the ass beating I’m about to give you,” said Antero as he stood up and tossed the whetstone at Oswald, barely missing his head. “You want to talk about rhetoric and revolution and all that shit? None of it compares to the pain I feel on a daily basis. It’s not just about chicks and Chads anymore. I’m talking worldwide genocide, bitch!”

“Worldwide genocide, my ass, Antero! You can deny it all you want, but the whole world knows you’re pissed off about not getting laid. That’s all this is or else you wouldn’t be in my dorm room wielding a machete right now. Sooner or later, the police are going to find you. And when they do, the misery you feel inside is going to make your fucking head explode. Then again…you really can’t get any uglier, exploding head or not.”

“Bastard!” shouted Antero before rushing at Oswald with his blade held high. The terrorist took a swing and the dwarf managed to roll out of the way, but not without sending a toxic stream of pain through his body. As Oswald laid on the ground clutching his aching body parts, Antero planted a boot in his chest and held the machete to the little person’s throat. “You won’t get any flowers on your grave as I’ve already told you that morning with Uncle Tuomas. But if you have any requests for what’s carved into your tombstone, make them now or forever hold your peace.”

Instead of giving Antero the satisfaction, Oswald took a bear trap bite out of the terrorist’s toes, causing him to scream in agony and stumble backwards on his ass. The little guy’s pain boiled throughout his entire body as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. Meanwhile, Antero mocked him with, “I had no idea you were into feet, little manlet!”

“Burn in hell, you sick prick!” belted Oswald as he dashed towards the exit, but not without Antero shouting battle cries at him and swinging his machete like a schizophrenic samurai. The so-called “manlet” fumbled with the doorknob and lost precious time, allowing Antero to take another swing. Oswald moved his hand just in time and allowed the blade to slice off the doorknob. The dwarf kicked Antero in the shin and bolted out into the night air.

Try as he might to battle through the pain and ignore the inferno raging in his bones, Oswald stumbled over the sidewalk and allowed Antero to punt him in the ribs. The little guy went flying into a parked car and dented the door, causing the alarm to sound off throughout the neighborhood.

Oswald clutched his ribcage and whined in pain while the car alarm grated against his ears like a cheese shredder. Through watery eyes and darkening vision due to his slowing heart, he could see Antero smiling down at him with the blade pointed at his sorrowful face. This was it. This was how shit was going to end. Oswald thought of his own moments he would never experience in the afterlife. No deflowering. No true love. No Christmas morning. No graduation. No published books. Just a rotting midget corpse lying in the same grassy field as Uncle fucking Tuomas.

The dwarf had one last negotiation tactic before the blade severed his throat. “You should get the hell out of here before the police find you. There’s…” he spat up blood. “There’s an alarm going off, you know.” He spat up even more blood.

“Nobody’s coming to save you, you little shit. Just like nobody’s coming to save me. In the end, we’re all just chalk lines in the fucking concrete, drawn only to be washed away.”

“Sorry, Antero…but quoting Five Finger Death Punch isn’t going to save your life!” Sacrificing his foot, Oswald kicked the blade hard enough to sever a few toes and also blow it back in his attacker’s face. The leaking gash across Antero’s nose and mouth caused his screaming to sound like he was drowning in a bathtub. But instead of calling for help, he called for the one person who he thought could save him in this desperate time.

“Mommy! Help me! I want to go home! I don’t want to die! Don’t let me die! Mommy! Save me! I don’t want to meet Uncle Tuomas! He’ll tear me apart!”

Struggling to sit up with his ribs possibly broken and his foot mangled, Oswald couldn’t help but watch Antero’s melt down with a little bit of pity. He didn’t know if the tears in his eyes were from the pain or from genuine sadness. Here was a guy who thought he could change the world with his violent ways. And now that the violence was storming against him…all he could do was cry for his mommy.

Oswald reached for the dented car door’s handle and lifted himself to his one good foot. He noticed through sopping wet eyes that campus police had gotten word of the car alarm going off and Antero’s subsequent cries for mommy. Two burly men in green security uniforms grabbed the terrorist by his arms and hoisted him to his feet kicking and screaming before cuffing him. No matter how much Antero revolted, the same mommy rhetoric spewed from his mouth faster than the leaking machete wound.

Several students who had not yet evacuated the premise watched Antero’s arrest with tears in their own eyes. Their nightmares had come to an end right in front of them. But could they get their studies done in peace with heads full of trauma? Oswald kept wondering about his own studies, but quickly shifted his attention to his injured ribs and bloody foot. He stumbled across the parking lot and dropped to the ground, coughing up even more precious life fluids.

What happened next was something Oswald never dreamed of expecting in a million years. Other students actually knelt by his side to help him and see if he was okay. One of the girls pulled out her cell phone to call for an ambulance. The strokes of Oswald’s matted hair, the holding of his hands, and the gentle voices calming him down made him believe in worldwide love all over again. It didn’t have to be romantic. It didn’t have to be permanent. It was just people coming together during a moment of crisis and he was okay with that.

“Oswald, don’t die on us!” one of the female students shouted. “Open your eyes! An ambulance is coming to get you, okay?”

The dwarf wanted to get his piece in, but he vomited a geyser of blood all over his own face. The other students stepped back a little in shock, but immediately rejoined him to share his pain. “It’s over,” said Oswald through sloppy lips. “It’s over! He’s finally gone…”

Before he could finish his final thoughts, the dwarf blacked out yet again, which seemed to be a normal occurrence for him throughout these eventful few days under Incelbordination’s watch. He secretly wished he could have slept through this whole story. No pain. No trauma. No horny incels. Just peace and quiet…and maybe Bruce BecVar’s guitar playing and heavenly vocals.

Conspiracy Theory

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 1

Bill Maher wants to commit fat guy genocide

Put millennials in ovens until they are fried

Beat Muslims with a bat, it’s what he wants

Since their symbol is a crescent, he eats croissants

Listen, ‘cause the story that I’m telling is true

If he tried to sue, he would badly lose

Maybe I embellished just a little tiny bit

But as long as you’re willing to eat bullshit…

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 2

Donald Trump was born on the planet of Mars

Sitting on his pudgy ass eating chocolate bars

The orange on his skin is moldy Wheat Thins

Doritos, Cheetohs, and rotten Papas Fritos

Listen, ‘cause the story that I’m telling is real

It’ll make him squeal, the stuff I reveal

Maybe it’s built on a little white lie

But as long as you’re willing to pray to the sky…

CHORUS

I have a conspiracy theory

No rest for the weary

Have no choice but to hear me

I have a conspiracy theory

VERSE 3

James Woods once sued a starving African teen

For twenty million dollars and his ruptured spleen

The charges stemmed from a 1912 Twitter post

About the so-called actor having brains of buttered toast

Listen, ‘cause the story will involve Dr. Luke

And how they drowned each other in Roman shower puke

If they win their lawsuits, it’ll only be a fluke

Conspiracy theories don’t have to be rebuked

FINAL LINE

I have a conspiracy theory X4

"The Blood Files: the Case of Arnus Mortem" by BJ Taylor and Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: The Blood Files: the Case of Arnus Mortem

AUTHORS: BJ Taylor and Marie Krepps

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Vampire Horror

GRADE: Pass

Between the years 1929 and 1930, Arnus Mortem a.k.a. Jack the Ripper has been slaying and raping prostitutes on the streets of London with no signs of stopping. He piques the interest of vampire legend Dracula, who turns him into a vampire through a sexually charged ritual and sends him on a mission to build an army of vampires and conquer America. The murderous bloodbaths continue all over the streets of San Francisco, California, where even the cops are powerless to thwart Arnus and his new minions. Will America fall into corrupt and bloodstained hands? The trail of battered bodies seems to agree.

As a lover and writer of gory fiction, I applaud the level of gob-smacking violence the two authors have peppered in this novella. The way the blood, organs, and bones splatter and explode onto everything is delicious even to a non-vampire like myself. It’s almost as if the vampires are painting a masterpiece using the their favorite shades of red, pink, and purple. The sexual overtones are perfectly laced into these violent beat downs. While I won’t go into explicit detail as to how arousing the bloody sex is, make sure your kids are tucked into bed and that your own bedroom door is locked tightly. You might want to invest in a bank vault door if need be. If you love R-rated beauty, you’ll love this novella.

One minor complaint I have about this story is that there are a lot of corrupt characters in this story that are hard to root for. Arnus Mortem is a cold-blooded murderer turned vampire, Dracula is a genocidal misanthropist, Anne beats the crap out of her friend Susan with a baseball bat, and Renfield is a crooked cop who breaks more laws than he upholds. Even the last good guy in the book, Private Investigator Randall Jones, is a home wrecker for his secretary Penny as the two of them have a sexual affair together in his office. There are no clearly defined heroes in this book since everybody is either a murderer, a rapist, a genocidal lunatic, or a combination of all three. As much as we love to root for the villain, those are not likeable qualities for main characters. All they want to do is kill and have sex without any sign of a moral compass. But as I’ve said, that’s only a minor complaint and doesn’t take away from my ability to enjoy this brutal piece of horror fiction.

Not one human being in this novel is safe from vampire driven slaughter. Saw, Hostel, and even Blood Drive can’t compare to the brutality you’ll see in this novel. This novella is not for the weak at heart. Only the toughest and most badass readers will get a kick out of this sexy gore fest. I happen to love every page of this book. Marie Krepps and BJ Taylor are an outstanding team when it comes to vampire fiction and I hope they put out more books like these in the future. Come to think of it, there was a “to be continued” disclaimer at the end of the book, so it looks like my bloody desires will come true yet again! These two authors deserve a passing grade for this hardcore effort. Drink it in, folks (the story, not the blood, hehe!).

The Geomancer

Getting away from the madness of city life was exactly what Ally Bennett needed when she went on this hiking trip. Not a single soul dared to venture up these mountains and that was just the way Miss Bennett liked it. She was dressed for the boiling hot weather with her hiking boots, tan shorts, and tight camouflage T-shirt. Sweat poured off her brow, arms, and legs like a fire hydrant, but she didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck in a rolling donut. Her long brunette hair felt sticky, but that was yet another small price for the sake of introverted physical fitness. She lived for the beauty of Mother Nature no matter what the weather was like.

Just when she thought she was alone at the top of the mountain, she saw something that made her drop her hiking staff to the rocky ground. “What the hell?” she silently said to herself as she noticed a man dressed in green and blue wizard robes chanting in tongues while holding out his hands in a Jesus Christ pose. Ally’s first thought was to run back down the mountain screaming like hell. But this mysterious being was just like a car crash: she couldn’t look away no matter how much she wanted to.

The mystical chant ended when the blue haired being turned his head and gave Ally a look of venomous scorn. “You have no business up here, woman. Turn around and leave if you value your life!”

“First of all, dumb shit,” said Ally with her hands on her hips. “This is a national fucking park. Everybody’s welcome here no matter how weird they look in those god awful clothes of yours. Second of all, my name is not woman. It’s Ally. Ally Bennett.”

“Bryan Valencia,” said the wizard. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bennett. Now that the sappy introductions are over, I suggest you get going before shit starts going down!”

“Okay, Mr. Wizard Guy, that sounded a little bit like a threat, so I’m just going to pull out my cell phone and dial 9-1-1…what the hell are you doing?!” Ally never got the chance to press the buttons on her smart phone as she was stunned by Bryan’s geomantic powers. With wide-eyed horror, she watched him raise his palm in the air and levitate a large rock off the ground. The floating rock was hurled into Ally’s cell phone, shattering the gizmo into tiny fragments while giving Ally a red mark on her hand and a reason to scream “Ow! Jesus!”

As the hiker shook out the pain in her palm, Bryan smiled at her and said, “Do I have your attention now? Would you like another demonstration of how badly I can crush you? That rock trick was just child’s play compared to the damage I’m capable of.”

Clutching her hand to sooth the pain, Ally asked, “Who the hell are you, anyways? I know you said your name was Bryan and all that, but what the fuck, man? You’re lifting rocks off the ground, you’re dressed like you’re going to a nerd convention, you’ve got blue fucking hair, I don’t know what to believe anymore!”

“All of those things you so ignorantly described are the traits of a geomancer,” said Bryan.

“Geo what?”

“Geomancer. I control the elements of the earth. If I want an earthquake, I’ll give you one. If I want a mudslide, you’ve got it. But then I figured, why stop there? Earthquakes and mudslides are tinker toys. To really get in touch with Mother Nature, I have to be right here at the top of this mountain. A mountain, which by the way, was at one point an active volcano. You ever wonder why nobody comes up here? Well, let’s just say they’re not fast enough to run away from the lava, like the idiot brain surgeon politician once said. I swear to god, the ignorance of your people is mind-boggling,” ranted Bryan.

“So this is it, huh?” said Ally in a stern voice. “You’re going to blow up this damn volcano just to show everyone who’s boss. You’re such a noble guy.”

With his fists at his side, Bryan roared, “What do you know about nobility?!” The sudden crescendo caused Ally to bounce backward in fear. “Why do you think people go on hiking trips to begin with? To get away from it all. Well, I’m not getting away from anything. I’m confronting the sins of this world dead on. Don’t you ever get sick of the world sometimes? All the violence, all the rape, all the bigotry, all the zeal. The poor are disenfranchised while those in charge get a slap on the wrist. Women are treated as sex objects while men laugh at their misery. Dropping bombs has become the new diplomacy. Well, if it’s bombs you want, I’ll drop the biggest one mankind has ever seen! My decades of geomantic studies have come down to this! And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Actually, there is something I can do about it,” said Ally with her arms folded and a death stare on her face.

“And what would that be?” asked Bryan mockingly. “I already shattered your cell phone, so the cops aren’t even close to coming. As far as I know, you don’t have geomantic powers of your own, so striking you down with a thousand stones would be the easiest part of my day. So what other options do you have? What could you possibly do that will stop me from exacting revenge on this world?”

“Call you out on your bullshit, that’s what,” said Ally. Bryan’s facial features and fierce stance softened at the hiker’s stubbornness. “Being against all of those violent things that you’ve listed is noble in its own right. You’d be crazy not to be. It’s like being in favor of kittens and rainbows. Up with puppies! But what good is being against the sins of the world if you’re committing one right now? You’re not a hero to anybody. You’re a hypocrite! Your volcanic blast will take out all of those rich assholes and male chauvinists you hate so much, but it’ll also take out those sexualized women and innocent children that you claim to have a soft spot for. By blowing this volcano, you’ll be no different from the politicians who drop bombs on helpless civilians overseas. Is that the mark you want to leave on this world? Do you want to be a hypocrite?!”

Bryan tucked his head in shame as if those words stung him like a scorpion’s tail. He spent lengthy seconds in what appeared to be silent and deep contemplation. He lifted his head once more, but this time with the same hardened expression as when he started his spell. “You’re so full of shit! How dare you question my tactics! You really think the innocents want to live in a world run by these rich lunatics? Consider this a mercy killing, my friend!”

Something inside Ally Bennett snapped. She grabbed her walking cane and held it like a samurai warrior ready to strike. Her muscles twitched. Her eyes were wild with fiery anger. Her teeth were clenched hard enough to chew through steel. Every word she spoke was full of vitriol and hatred. “If you’re not going to listen to reason, then I’m going to make you! You’re not going to do shit to this world! If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting! This world is worth saving and you’re not going to do shit about it!”

Bryan raised his hands and levitated an entire wall of rocks off the ground, but Ally remained strong and defiant in the face of this new challenge. The geomancer threatened, “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, you crazy bitch! Prepare to die!”

The wizard rained down a storm of rocks upon Ally, hoping to crush her bones into the same fineness as the dirt below. Even with sharp stones piercing her skin, the undeterred hiker swung her cane like a baseball bat and knocked a few of them into Bryan’s throat. While Ally was buried and bloodied underneath a pile of rocks, Bryan Valencia clutched his windpipe while gasping for air. He danced around in pain trying to get his oxygen back, but made a critical mistake when he fell off the ledge of the mountain and rolled down the hill.

The geomancer bumped into many large stones, trees, and sharp grass blades during his barrel roll down the side of the mountain. His spine crunched in two, his arms and legs were shattered beyond repair, and his head exploded with his brains scattered across the landscape. By the time he reached the bottom, he was already a necromantic supper for a family of bears, who feasted on his carcass like the wild animals they were. Nothing was left of Bryan Valencia except for bones and tiny chunks of meat and shit.

Back at the top of the mountain, Ally Bennett stayed buried beneath the rocks like it was going to be her grave. She hadn’t moved for the longest time and her bloody limbs squeezed fresh juice to trickle down the mountain. After what seemed like ages, her fingers twitched and her dirt-covered eyes barely opened.

At that moment she knew she couldn’t run away from the world’s problems like she intended to do in this hike. She was a hero that day for what she did to Bryan Valencia. Her work was far from over. If she was going to join the resistance against oppressive values, she couldn’t do it through volcanoes, earthquakes, or any other form of terrorism. It’s like a famous first lady once said: “When they go low, you go high.” It didn’t get any higher than the top of a volcanic mountain. It didn’t get any lower than being a human buffet table for a family of brown bears.

Zion Heart

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next act for the Central River High year-end talent show is a classic rock acoustic guitar piece. Please put your hands together for Miss Eleanor Paris!”

From behind the curtain, hearing Mr. Jeremy Land’s voice on the microphone accompanied by applauding hands sent chills through Eleanor’s body. She thought back to all of the times older kids shoved her against lockers and called her sexist names. She thought back to all of the teachers who doubted her guitar-playing abilities. And now here they all were to see what she was made of.

The redheaded, beige dress-wearing Eleanor took a deep breath to calm her nerves and treaded through the curtain to take her seat on the stool. She took a moment to survey the crowd before her. Some of the boys were chuckling silently and pointing at her. Some of the girls put on their best bitch faces with their arms folded. Another deep breath later and it was show time.

She rested her acoustic guitar on her lap and adjusted the microphone to her height before she started strumming away. She was gentle with every chord, almost putting her worst critics in a siren’s trance. And when she sang her lines, she had a voice of pure angelic gold.

“The child lay in the starlit night. Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light. How strange to choose to end a life. How strange to choose to kill a child. Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep, Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands. Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel. Our standard of living, could this be a reason…that we would choose to kill the child? That we would choose to kill the child?”

Those dark and heartbreaking lyrics put thoughtful frowns on the faces of her audience. No more were they giggling and pointing. Eleanor had these dopey teenagers at full attention. She strummed her chords with even more passion than before only to find her microphone silenced as she sang the second verse. She patted the microphone head a few times and then pounded it with her fist to try to get it working again. The once doubtful students were now in shock.

“I assure you, Miss Paris, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your microphone.” There was nothing wrong with Principal Gary Weinberg’s microphone either as he sat in the back of the auditorium with a disgusted look on his pudgy face.

“However!” he said with a booming voice in his Jewish accent. “There is something wrong with that song you’re singing! For all of our younger students who didn’t live with this kind of music, that song was written by former Pink Floyd bassist Roger Waters! His recent comments in the news about the Jewish people reek of racism and hatred! This school prides itself on its anti-discrimination policies! Because you, Miss Paris, have played a song by a raging bigot with the intent to incite trouble, you by proxy are in violation of those rules! Get off the stage! As a matter of fact, get out of my school!”

The student audience went silent as Eleanor ducked her head in shame and shed silent tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of the same people who put her down so many times. She wanted to get up from her stool and hide in a corner somewhere, but her legs were shaking with anxiety.

The dark haired, purple dress shirt and jeans-wearing Mr. Land approached the stage and gave Eleanor a gentle hug to try and comfort her. All it did was make the tears pour like a flooding rainstorm. “It’s okay, Eleanor. It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Mr. Land pounded the microphone until it started working again. With a stern look on his face and his finger pointed at Principal Weinberg, he ripped into him with, “As a history and political science teacher, I thought I should correct you on something. If you actually paid attention to Roger Waters’ comments, he was attacking the Israeli government for their treatment of the Palestinians. It had nothing to do with Jewish people in general and certainly had nothing to do with little old you, Principal Weinberg! And quite frankly, I agree with what Roger Waters has said!”

Principal Weinberg laughed in jest and said, “Oh, this is rich. You’re actually debating me on this. You think you know more about my culture than I do.” Gary’s face turned serious when he said, “The fact that you’re even arguing this with me is hysterical. Actually, there’s nothing funny about it. It’s disgusting. It’s disgraceful. It’s unbecoming of someone like you, Mr. Land, who’s supposed to have an intricate knowledge about worldwide cultures!”

Eleanor held her hand up like she would if she wanted to be called on in class. She weakly said, “Um, excuse me, Mr. Weinberg, but this isn’t about…”

“Shut up, Miss Paris!” yelled the Jewish Principal as he stood up and pointed a commanding finger at her. “I’ve said pretty much everything I wanted to say to you! Now take your guitar and play that vile racist crap somewhere else!”

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” shouted Jeremy. “You never talk to your students that way! And by the way, if you’ve actually paid attention to anything Roger Waters has done over the course of his life, you’d know that you’re reminding everyone of how depressing your school system has become! Do you know why he says, ‘We don’t need no education?’ It’s because people like you make school a dangerous place to go! These students depend on you for guidance and wisdom! They don’t want to be talked down to by a power hungry, bottom feeding snake in the grass!”

That last line got a round of applause by the student audience while Gary Weinberg smiled sarcastically and shook his head. “You guys like that?” The audience cheered louder. “You want him to keep going?” They cheered even louder. “Well, he’s not going to do that! You’re fired, Jeremy!” The audience went silent and formed frowns on their faces. “As the Principal of this school, it’s my job to keep order around here! Are you surprised by the fact that I fired an insubordinate employee? You kids are lucky that the worst that happens to you is detention! In the real world, if you don’t conform to the rules, you sleep on the corner! Get out of here, Jeremy! Out right now!”

Mr. Land, seething with hot rage, threw down his microphone and broke it in two before marching his way down the aisle and through the exit. Before making his departure, he said, “You can take the microphone replacement out of my severance package!” He slammed the door with a thunderous thud.

Eleanor Paris remained sitting on the stage with tears in her eyes, snot in her nose, and a contorted frown on her face. She knew she was next on Weinberg’s shit list, but didn’t have the strength in her convulsing legs to get up and go. The Principal encouraged her with, “Well, what are you waiting for, Miss Paris? Get going! The final curtain has dropped on this talent show! Move it!”

She stood up and staggered off the stage, tripping many times in her high-heeled shoes. There were times when she just crawled across the floor with the helpless audience watching in pity. This demeaning scenario put her mind back to those dark places. This crippling anxiety was what she felt whenever another student physically or verbally assaulted her. It was what she felt when she doubted her own guitar playing abilities. It was amazing she could hold onto her guitar at all with her shaky fear as she took the walk of shame.

Eleanor Paris was ready to give up the fight against a corrupt system and walk out of the door with tears dominating her beautiful visage. She held onto the door handle for support and took one last sorrowful look at Principal Gary Weinberg’s jowl-covered face. This man had just fired his best teacher, expelled his best student, and silenced an entire crowd of students before turning them into conformist, putty-faced zombies. Come to think of it, what did she have left to lose? Who the hell did this guy think he was? What the fuck was she going to do about it?

She turned to face her tormentor with a different reason for trembling. It wasn’t anxiety; it was anger. Pure, white hot, volcanic anger for the authoritative bullshit that served as Roger Waters’ creative fuel. Eleanor steadied her lips and asked, “What was that thing you said about kids only getting detention for punishment? Well, seeing as how detention and expulsion are really just vacations in disguise and summertime is already here…”

An evil, quivering, rage-induced grin spread across Eleanor Paris’ face as she raised her guitar in the air and smashed it over Gary Weinberg’s head, knocking him to the ground and giving him a reason to abuse a bottle of Advil the next morning. The students and teachers alike gasped in shock while Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and said, “Do we really need an education from a guy who just lost fifty IQ points?” The student audience burst into raucous cheers while the teachers were frozen with fear.