Wayne LaPierre: One of Stephen Miller's Brainwashers, the Other Being Larry Elder

 

Dana Loesch: She Shoots from the Hip...at Unarmed Black People

 

Deathbringer (Trigger Warning: Child Abuse)

VERSE 1

Your son got a C in his Bible Studies class

So you took your leather belt and you bloodied up his ass

Told him he was worthless and he’s burning in hell

There’s more blood to shed if he finds a cop to tell

Damn right there’s more bloodshed, but now it’s yours

‘Cause he found your nine-millimeter in your chest of drawers

A tool of destruction used in overseas wars

BANG-BANG! Now the maid’s got some extra laundry chores

 

CHORUS

Death to abusers! Death to the rapists!

Death to conformists! You’ll learn to hate this!

Life isn’t precious when you take theirs away!

Here comes the Deathbringer, it’s Judgment Day!

 

VERSE 2

Your trustworthy pastor grabbed your daughter’s legs

Because she wore a short skirt and was begging for sex

That’s your version of the story and you’re sticking to it

She had her chance to go to heaven, but she fucking blew it

There’s still hope for you to find out your fate

‘Cause now your tender baby has a reason to hate

Meet Jesus early, your vision became blurry

When she stabbed you in the throat, ended your life in a hurry

 

CHORUS

Death to abusers! Death to the rapists!

Death to conformists! You’ll learn to hate this!

Life isn’t precious when you take theirs away!

Here comes the Deathbringer, it’s Judgment Day!

 

VERSE 3

Those in power love to cry about the birthrate

So they outlaw abortion using anti-woman hate

The real headline isn’t guys not getting laid

It’s the bounties on their heads finally being paid

Wanted dead or alive, but not so much the latter

Bash rapists’ skulls and enjoy the blood splatter

Cut off their wangs, cock the pistol, BANG-BANG!

It’s too late to negotiate, abusers must hang!

 

CHORUS

Death to abusers! Death to the rapists!

Death to conformists! You’ll learn to hate this!

Life isn’t precious when you take theirs away!

Here comes the Deathbringer, it’s Judgment Day!

 

OUTRO

Are you offended? Are you pissed?

So am I, because of what you did!

Are you a censor? Brainwasher?

That’s good, I’ll hold your head under water!

Thou Shalt Not Kill no longer applies

Every time the innocent always fucking dies!

It’s too late to rehabilitate

Here’s a bullet or two, how ‘bout I fire eight?!

Ronda Santis, I Mean, Ron DeSatan, I Mean, Ron DeSantis!

 

Kyle Rittenhouse vs. Tyler Robinson: Double KO!

 

Balls Deep in War

VERSE 1

I logged a hundred hours playing Call of Duty

Neon sign on my head that says, “Recruit me!”

Shave my head right down to my brain

Just kidding, I flushed that shit down the drain

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But a Drill Sergeant’s insults will turn us all to clones

If I break down and cry, I won’t be paid to die

I want to go to war and blow that shit sky high

 

CHORUS 1

Balls deep in boot camp!

Balls deep in the corps!

Balls deep in push-ups!

Balls deep in war!

 

VERSE 2

Automatic rocket launchers, automatic bazookas

Hiroshima bombs on the chicks named Asooka

I thought her name was Asuka, but who really cares?

Her pile of ashes is blowing through the air

Semi-auto flamethrowers, Tech Nine shotguns

Colt 45’s? I don’t just got one

I got two of them bitches, ‘cause I want to be the killer

Be the turban slayer and the burqa lady thriller

 

CHORUS 2

Balls deep in Iraq!

Balls deep in Japan!

Balls deep in Israel!

Balls deep in Iran!

 

VERSE 3

I’m coming back home to abuse my girlfriend

Beat her ass like a drum until the world ends

Talk shit about Muslims like it’s going out of style

This is Jesus’s world, he’s gonna be here for a while

Get a job with the police, do anything I want

I’ll get away with murder even if I get caught

I was built from the ground up to fight a lost cause

Now I’m like John Rambo breaking vagrancy laws

 

CHORUS 3

Balls deep in therapy!

Balls deep in my wife!

Balls deep in divorce!

Balls deep in civilian life!

Balls deep in loneliness!

Balls deep in being poor!

Balls deep in debt!

Balls deep in war!

 

DIALOGUE

“The few! The proud! The marines! Because toxic masculinity is what built America!”

That’s not a good thing, yo…

Bullet With a Name On It

…I’m not a violent person. I don’t carry a gun with me at all times. The last time I got in a fight was in high school. It was a miserable defeat to a guy who mounted my chest and punched me so many times that I got a black eye, numb cheeks, and chewing difficulties. One of the administrators cracked a terrible joke about how I was a lover and not a fighter. I’d expect that kind of humor in the UFC or WWE, but not at school. But I suppose there was some truth in that joke, because ever since that day, I’ve responded to any amount of stress the same way: freezing like Walt Disney eating a popsicle in the middle of a tundra. Fight and flight are gone. Freezing is all that remains. Staying perfectly still and not being confrontational is supposed to be a survival mechanism. But what am I surviving?

 

While I don’t have a violent life or a criminal history of any kind…I have so many violent thoughts swirling in my head. So many people have taken advantage of my freezing response and said whatever the hell they wanted, like the first amendment was made specifically for assholes. No amethyst colors here, just red, white, and blue. I’ve been fat-shamed, called the R-slur, called a pussy for not joining the military, I’ve had slanderous rumors spread about me, and I’ve been accused of laziness when I didn’t want to get a job and go to school at the same time. These people who abused their first amendment rights…they bear the brunt of these violent thoughts. So...many…violent…thoughts…

 

Punches in bunches. Sprawling and brawling. Knees to the face. Kicks to the balls. Maybe a piledriver if I’m feeling strong that day. Hell, let’s go full UFC and throw in a rear naked chokehold. In my brain I’m undefeated, even against well-trained marines and martial arts blackbelts. I justify these victories by saying, “Whose dick did they have to suck in order to get those accolades?” I’m sure they can explain the bruises on their faces, but how will they explain the bruises on the inside of their mouths to their dentist? Dentists can tell what you’ve been up to in the bedroom. Or under the sensei’s desk, wherever you feel more comfortable.

 

But it’s not just unarmed brawling that I fantasize about. Sometimes I’m armed and dangerous. Sometimes I’ve got a big fucking knife. Sometimes I justify those knife victories by saying, “A blackbelt doesn’t give you puncture-proof skin.” Come to think of it…what is a blackbelt good for anyways? Holding up your pants so that we don’t have to look at your Sailor Moon crotchless panties? That kind of intimate wear would never withstand a few strokes from a big ass knife. And neither would your skin. Just hack, slash, hack, slash, an arm there, a leg there, a throat somewhere else, and a glorious bloodbath that will never make me want to shower ever again.

 

But why is it just melee ranged weapons? Why I can’t I shoot a gun? Surely, it can’t be that hard to shoot a gun. It’s like using America Online: point and click. Maybe I’m oversimplifying complicated technology, but remember, it’s my brain, I’m undefeated. If some bozo driving an obnoxiously large truck drives by me and shouts the F-slur, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it. It’s weird to think about, because in order to have a bullet with somebody’s name on it, I have to know that person’s name. Drive-by loudmouths don’t give you their name or any information about them. That’s a big part of what makes them cowards. Not only do they shout their shit, but they drive away before facing any real consequences. Sure, your truck has a badass engine, but can your truck outrun a bullet? Will a V8 engine matter if there’s a bullet in the gas tank? Will all the horsepower in the world matter if the bullet shatters glass and that glass cuts you up? And what good is driving a truck if the driver gets shot and the vehicle flips on its back? Drive-by loudmouths don’t think about these things in advance. Then again, I wouldn’t call anything they do thinking.

 

Violent fantasies are so much fun to have. I love bathing in blood. I love listening to screams. I love the symphonic melodies of bones snapping and organs sloshing. I love listening to my insulters plead for their lives only to lose them anyways. But it’s important to remember that these are fantasies. They don’t exist outside of my brain. If they did, there would be serious consequences. Seeing this many dead bodies would break so many hearts. I’d have my own broken heart as I sit alone in a prison cell with regret on my mind. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life with an imagination: fantasy and reality are not one in the same. That’s why people caution against porn being unrealistic. Porn isn’t designed to tell a realistic story. It has one purpose: to help masturbators achieve an orgasm by any means necessary. If you can’t separate fantasy from reality, you’re already waiting to get fucked.

 

So go ahead and listen to gangsta rap on repeat. Dream of killing your enemies in cold blood. Drink that cold blood like it’s as refreshing as Coca-Cola. Hell, you can even write about some of these daydreams in your stories if you’re an author of some sort. But that comes with its own set of responsibilities. As authors, everything you put on the paper is held in high esteem. Your readers will take everything you say literally and they’ll apply it to their own way of thinking. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but they are impressionable. If you’re being held up as an arbiter of truth and you tell a bunch of violent or sexual lies, that’s going to have a bad influence on your readers. Think of all the BDSM rookies who wound up in the hospital after reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Think of all the women who will get pregnant because of birth control misinformation in The Missus, which is written by the same author. You can have your bloody fantasies on paper, but don’t lead your audience astray.

 

If you’re watching Quentin Tarantino movies, don’t duct tape your enemy to a chair and cut his ear off while dancing to 70’s music. If you’re watching WWE television from the 2000’s, don’t simulate sex with a corpse as a way of insulting someone who wronged you. If you’re watching Mind of Mencia and I hope to god you’re not, don’t throw racial slurs haphazardly and then later wonder why you’re being “canceled”. And by the way, cancel culture isn’t real. If you write a shitty story chock full of irresponsible violence and rape, your audience has the right to react in a negative way, because criticism isn’t censorship. Criticism is the other half of free speech.

 

If you must have violent fantasies, reign them in. Don’t unleash them out into the real world. If you’re a peaceful guy in real life, but you have violent fantasies, don’t let anybody judge you for it. Truth is, everybody thinks about violence at least once in their life. At least once, don’t let them lie to you. Nobody’s this candid about their violent fantasies, but we all have them. Some are more mild than others, but they still exist. It’s a normal part of the human experience. Thinking about something is a healthy way to process it. Thinking is the best way to travel. Doing these things in real life will cause so much heartache, for you and your victims. And for the love of god…don’t join the military just because you happen to be good at playing Halo.

The Gunman Is Always Right

VERSE 1

A dangerous resolution, it’s just an illusion

The gunman won’t agree to a peaceful solution

Bullets equal power and might makes right

Rifle’s locked and loaded, don’t put up a fight

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 2

His newfound hostages are now his disciples

He’s got a god complex, he’ll be in charge for a while

He makes them sing hymns through their tape gags

Acolytes burning candles for the guy with clips and mags

He could write a bible with the blood of his rivals

That he nailed to a cross in a Jesus Christ style

He could go anywhere and make it his church

Hellfire and gun powder will equally burn

 

CHORUS 1

He said, “I got the gun

I got the ropes

I’m always right”

 

VERSE 3

His rifle has jammed, it refuses to click

So the brainwashed flock kick him in the dick

Punch him in the face until it’s blood he tastes

It ain’t the blood of Christ, it’s dripping with haste

Kick him in the ribs until every bone splits

Kick him in the ass, he’s got never-ending shits

The power dynamic is once again balanced

It’s only fair that the victims get their share

 

CHORUS 2

They said, “You ain’t our god

You’re just a fraud

We’re always right”

They said, “You’re off to jail

The sirens wail

We’re always right”

The Screamers

OPENING LINE

I don’t want to get over it

I want you to change your behavior

VERSE 1

Life would be great if it wasn’t for the people

What jerks will you meet? Let’s spin the wheel

It’s not America’s game show, but Russian Roulette

A bullet to the dome is what you’re bound to get

The screamers, the shooters, and everyone between

Barely an inconvenience on the TV news screen

The boogeyman they choose was never at fault

For bringing the economy to a grinding halt

CHORUS

Whenever I want to get on with my life

Always somebody there to bring down the knife

Just when I have the world all figured out

Here come the zealots ready to shoot and shout

The screamers!

The screamers!

Killing all the dreamers!

The screamers!

VERSE 2

Logic doesn’t work on the ones who need it most

They got the muscles of a Chad, brains of burned toast

You can lead a zombie to the doors of a college class

But you can’t make him pull his head out of his ass

CHORUS

Whenever I want to get on with my life

Always somebody there to bring down the knife

Just when I have the world all figured out

Here come the zealots ready to shoot and shout

The screamers!

The screamers!

Killing all the dreamers!

The screamers!

VERSE 3

When someone is too young to be a self-advocate

Their brains are molded by good old sacrament

They grow up to buy their own rifles and ammo

And they shoot up the world while wearing camo

These are the people we share a space with

Yet they call the disenfranchised a democratic myth

CHORUS

Whenever I want to get on with my life

Always somebody there to bring down the knife

Just when I have the world all figured out

Here come the zealots ready to shoot and shout

The screamers!

The screamers!

Killing all the dreamers!

The screamers!

Charles Goodhorn Is On Your Team, Idiots

Are you looking for adventure? Are you looking for magic? Are you looking for a magical adventure with dragon-slaying and princess-rescuing? Well, put away the Kindle and its charging cord, because you won’t get that from Charles Goodhorn’s brief encounter with gun-wielding bugbears. Who is Charles Goodhorn, you ask? He’s a noble paladin. A righteous warrior. A slayer of everything evil. With every D&D campaign he was a part of, he made it to the eighth level of his profession. He was so close to getting his own warhorse and followers. He could have been the stuff of legends…but not this time. Not even close to this time.

Somewhere in the mid to late-90’s, my brother James hosted an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons with his friends Adam and his own brother whose name I can’t remember, both of whom played bugbears. What the fuck was a bugbear? Well, I didn’t start using the internet on a frequent basis until 2000, so it wasn’t like I could Google it right away. I always thought they were just humanoid bears. Damn, did I turn out to be wrong. James, Adam, and Adam’s nameless brother were in the middle of a session when from out of nowhere, James asked if I wanted to play to. Hell yes, I wanted to play! I got my eighth-level paladin ready for some action, complete with a magical bastard sword and the swagger of a true warrior.

Charles Goodhorn, the paladin in question, entered the game…and the first thing the two bugbears do is point their guns at me. Whatever swagger Charles had going into this campaign was completely gone when I, the player, couldn’t figure out how to deal with this situation. I froze up. I scrambled for answers and couldn’t find any. I couldn’t understand why two player characters would want to point guns at me for seemingly no reason. And so, Charles Goodhorn disappeared in a puff of smoke. Adam’s brother wanted to take Charles’s magical bastard sword, but that disappeared too. And then I retreated to my room not knowing why the hell everything happened the way it did.

Even though this session lasted about as long as virgin sex (which I would know nothing about), there is a lot to unpack now that I’m an adult storyteller with a somewhat developed frontal cortex. First of all, let’s ask why. Why would two player characters want to point weapons at another player character, especially when Charles did nothing to provoke them? Aren’t all player characters supposed to be on the same side? Even with differing alignments, surely they could find a way to work together. Maybe that’s what I should have had Charles say: “I’m on your team, idiots!”

Was he, though? Would a Detect Evil check inform him of the bugbears’ intentions? Should characters just willingly trust each other due to their circumstances? Do they have to get along all the time? If not, then why would they not get along? Did these bugbears come with their own emotional baggage? Were they screwed over so many times that pointing guns at strangers is reasonable? 

Or maybe…just maybe, a Google search many decades later would reveal to me that bugbears generally conform to the Chaotic Evil alignment, which meant there was no structure or recourse to what they were doing as long as it meant killing all the good guys. If I had used the Detect Evil skill that all paladins are entitled to, then I probably would have figured this out. But I froze up not knowing what to do, because I thought all player characters had to get along all the time.

But let’s say that Charles knew ahead of time that the bugbears were evil. Surely, he could just cut them down with his bastard sword the minute they got too close. But maybe it wasn’t such a hot idea to say, “I’m on your team, idiots!” Could declaring allegiance to Chaotic Evil bugbears turn Charles into an Oath Breaker, or a warrior who lost all of his paladin powers by virtue of deviating from Lawful Goodness?

But let’s say my Google search turned out to be a bunch of horseshit. Let’s say the bugbears weren’t Chaotic Evil, but they were just distrusting of strangers who suddenly waltzed in on their action. Well…Charles is hardly the only stranger to cross their paths, I’m sure. The streets of every city the bugbears were a part of were most likely packed with strangers. Do the bugbears point their guns at pedestrians crossing the street? How about the bartenders who serve them beer? Or the blacksmiths who forge their weapons? Maybe they should solve their own trust issues before they get thrown in prison for randomly pointing guns at people they don’t know.

If the bugbears weren’t actually Chaotic Evil, why would they want to distrust a paladin, who is notorious for conforming to Lawful Good behavior? If you can’t trust a zealot paladin, who can you trust? A True Neutral thief? A Chaotic Neutral barbarian? How about a Lawful Evil politician? You know, someone who hides behind red tape and charisma while committing the most devious acts imaginable, such as slashing funding for poor people and giving tax breaks to kajillionaires.

But let’s say the bugbears don’t have deep-seated trust issues nor are they Chaotic Evil. Why then would they point guns at a random paladin? Perhaps it had more to do with the setting than anything else. I never did ask James where this campaign took place. If the bugbears were in a monster-infested dungeon, maybe they thought the paladin was yet another monster. Sounds reasonable, right? Well, at that point, it sounds more like a prophecy for Dick Cheney shooting hunters in the face. Apparently, Dick Cheney wasn’t an outlier. There really were hunters in the news who shot distant people because they thought the person was a deer. Charles Goodhorn didn’t have antlers…or tentacles…or vampire fangs…or bat wings…he was just a human knight with good intentions. And yet, he could have been shot in the face because of hair-trigger paranoia.

Hair-trigger paranoia is actually a common theme in movies and books. In the beginning of The Hateful Eight, Marquis Warren asks for a ride from John Ruth’s horse carriage. Because John Ruth is a bounty hunter with a pricy criminal in tow, he points his guns at Marquis and demands to see his hands. John has no idea if Marquis is a criminal, but he won’t take any chances due to the gravity of his situation. Maybe the bugbears had similar gravity in their situations and would rather vet people than let them have access to whatever riches or artifacts they have. That would have been a fair justification for paranoia, but I didn’t know that at the time, because I always assumed player characters were part of a team.

There’s a lesson to be learned in the campaign that lasted about as long as Daniel Bryan vs. Sheamus at WWE Wrestlemania in 2012. Read the room. Make sure you see all the nuances of the situation before making wild assumptions. Charles had no idea why bugbears would want to point rifles at him, but it wouldn’t have hurt to find out. It wasn’t like he could just run up to them and cut them down, which may or may not have made him an Oath Breaker. They had guns, which meant they were in control. The one who has the bullets has all the power, in case you learned nothing from every bank robbery movie ever. Instead of calling them idiots for not seeing his side, Charles could interrogate them a little bit. Why are they pointing guns at him? Who are they? What are their intentions with him? What will it take to convince them to put their weapons down?

While illnesses like cancer and schizophrenia seem to happen randomly, human behavior happens for a reason. Is anybody really acting randomly? Do bugbears just shoot their guns off for no reason? Or do they have psychological issues which force them to do so? Do they have prejudices? Do they have untreated illnesses? Do they have past experiences with people who screwed them over? Do they value protection a little too much in dungeon-crawling scenarios? Would they shoot an innocent prisoner if they thought he was a monster? If so, what would prompt them to act hastily? Psychology can’t be boiled down to one or two actions or thoughts. There’s a whole universe going on in people’s heads. What kind of universe goes on in the bugbears’ heads?

I’ll tell you what kind of universe goes on in Charles Goodhorn’s head: the same as mine: confusion, anxiety, awkwardness, and shyness. I exhibit these traits in Charles because those were the only behaviors I knew as a pre-teen growing up in Chehalis, Washington. Getting inside other people’s heads and expanding character psychologies was an alien concept to me back then. I just wanted to slash some shit up. I wanted to kill the evil sorcerers and collect enough loot to support my Lawful Good churches. I wanted to slay dragons and rescue princesses. I wanted to leave behind a legacy of epic proportions. But if I did any of things as a Gary-Stu, then the legendary status loses all of its specialty.

If I prided myself so heavily on my creativity back then, why wouldn’t I want to expand my storytelling skills and see beyond the black and white? Because in order to do that, I’d have to actually take an interest in the literature middle school and high school gave me to analyze. School books are notorious for being boring, with the exceptions coming few and far between. Even in college, the reading material bored me to tears. I jokingly called Tom King’s book “Green Grass, Running Diarrhea”. I might as well have brought a blanket and pillow with me very time I stepped into Medieval Literature class. Going to school killed any love for reading I had, because the books sucked. It wasn’t until after I left school in 2009 that I started to find books that I liked and became a born-again bookworm.

These Dungeons & Dragons memoirs aren’t just fun to write; they’re learning experiences for my past self, whether it’s something to expand upon or never do again as a writer. Hopefully, young writers won’t make the same mistakes that I did, but if they do, it probably has something to do with the school system failing them. In my case, instead of turning to literary crap, I turned on the TV and watched edge lord shows like The Shield, WWE Raw, Mind of Mencia, and anything else that had offensive stereotypes that I never questioned. I took a lot of work to undo those edge lord tendencies. But if I hadn’t undone them, I wouldn’t be here to teach you these D&D-inspired lessons to begin with. Forget Cancel Culture, because my career wouldn’t have started anyways. Can’t take away a career that never was. Learn and continue to learn, my friends. That’s all I can teach you.

Strip You

 I hereby strip you of your freedom of speech

You fucked the conversation with the hate you teach

I hereby strip you of your right to bear arms

You could take a toy pistol and maximize the harm

I hereby strip you of your right to a trial

The shit you’re accused of goes on for miles

I hereby strip you of your non-prison clothes

In exchange for a jumpsuit and depressive woes

This ain’t no funhouse, people are dying

Yet you shrug off the complaints as babies crying

This ain’t no rally, you have nothing to be proud of

Count the dead bodies, if you’re generous, round up

I hereby strip you of your power over us

You’re drunk on your Kool-Aid, time to sober up

I hereby strip you of your gaslighting techniques

None of it’s romantic, even less of it is sexy

I hereby strip you of your traumatic excuses

None of them justify your emotional abuses

I hereby strip you of your entire legacy

And your purple cushion throne and royal pedigree

This ain’t no kingdom, I won’t fight for you

And your so-called rights to fuck over the truth

This ain’t no ballgame, I won’t bat for you

I’d rather take that bat and beat you black and blue

I hereby strip you of your bigotry

Brought to you by generations of idiocy

I hereby strip you of your ignorance

Everything you love lacks innocence

What gives me the right to take it all away?

You’d do the same to me anytime any day

Freedom for all loses all of its meaning

When the power belongs to the extremist-leaning

This ain’t no safe space for your prejudice

Defeats the purpose of human etiquette

This ain’t no graveyard for your victims

But a mausoleum for a broken system

3 From Hell

MOVIE TITLE: 3 From Hell
DIRECTOR: Rob Zombie
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Serial Killer Horror
RATING: R for violence, language, and nudity
GRADE: Fail

Being a naysayer isn’t easy for me, especially when the director is a musician I’ve seen twice in concert and own every album of. I went into this movie with an open mind like I always do. And really, who wouldn’t want to watch a bloody movie with gritty dialogue and three serial killers for main characters? You’ve got Otis Driftwood, a Charles Manson-like murderer with a nihilistic agenda and the mouth of a sailor. You’ve got his half-brother Foxy Coltrane, who howls like a wolf and shoots like a redneck. And then you’ve got Baby Firefly, Otis’s psychotic sister who could basically be described as Harley Quinn on steroids. The performances of these three characters were…kind of convincing? I guess? Maybe their body of work in this movie was overshadowed by the cheesiness of the story and side characters. That’s unfortunately a theme going into this review: cheesier than a pepperoni pizza. Some people don’t mind cheesiness. Me? It became too much for me.

One of the ways in which the cheesiness hampers the film is in the violence. Stabbing, shooting, skinning, torture, these are all things that are supposed to look disturbing on the screen, especially considering this movie is in the horror genre. But something about these killings made them lackluster. Maybe it happened too often to be special. Maybe it’s recycled bloodshed from movies of the past. Or maybe there’s not a whole lot creative about stabbing and shooting in the first place. Even the scene where a Mexican gangster is burned alive felt like a moment of meh. While Otis, Foxy, and Baby were all convincing as serial killers, they didn’t actually scare me to the point of this movie qualifying for the horror label. The actors did everything they could to bring the bloodshed to life, but it wasn’t enough. Something was off about this brand of violence and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I wanted to care, but I couldn’t.

Something else that bothered me was the idea that the antagonists had multiple chances to off the three killers and they didn’t capitalize. These antagonists had guns, knives, and everything in between. They even had numbers on their side and still couldn’t get the job done. You know what really sets the tone for this theme of going too easy on the killers? In the beginning, they were shown getting life-saving treatment at the hospital just so Captain Spalding (from the previous Rob Zombie movie) could die by lethal injection and be replaced by Foxy. If these killers are so dangerous, why even bother saving their lives? Why bother giving them their own fan club? Yeah, I know hybristophilia is a real thing, but even that came off as cheesy and forced.

Are we going to get a fourth movie in this Rob Zombie franchise? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows? If the negative reaction to 3 From Hell is any indication, then maybe it’s time to hang up the boots. Perhaps if there is a fourth movie, it’ll rejuvenate the franchise. But getting the audience to go to that fourth movie would require a lot of faith, most of which was broken by this cheesy effort called 3 From Hell. A failing grade goes to this piece of horror cinema. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t get into it, especially as the story progressed and somehow got boring after the initial shock wore off. This movie is no good. Sorry, Rob. You tried.

KKKaren

VERSE 1
Your first amendment rights
Shouldn’t lead to fist fights
Put on the goddamn mask
It’s not too much to ask
Put down your semiautomatic
Stop trying to be autocratic
Karen is spelled with three K’s
I could rant about you for days

VERSE 2
No, you can’t see the manager
About your faulty hamburger
No, you can’t call the police
To disturb a black guy’s peace
No, you can’t yell at clerks
Who’re only trying to work
Karen is spelled with three K’s
Who will be your next prey?

BRIDGE
You got your refund paid in full
Your jail time is void and null
You can go back to normalcy
And live your life so cordially
No, not you! You’re never happy
Cussing, screaming, shooting, slapping
Live and in color on a viral video
In case the news cycle was really slow

VERSE 3
You can apologize all you want
But only because you got caught
You can shed your river of tears
While your victims cower in fear
You can do it again to someone else
And never put the blame on yourself
Karen is spelled with three K’s
What more do I have to say?
Karen has an N at the end of it
Her favorite letter, racist sentiment
Karen is spelled with three K’s!

Hit Piece

VERSE 1
“Everything’s a hit piece, everything’s a shit squeeze”
You can’t take criticism
“Everything is cancer, no one has the answers”
You can’t engage in witticism
“Everything is canceled, everything’s an online battle”
Who’s the real snowflake now?
“Everything is PC, they all want to have it easy”
First amendment keeps you loud

CHORUS 1
Anytime you pay your taxes
You always grind your axes
Anytime two gay guys kiss
It’s the dark ages you miss
Anytime you fire your gun
You take away somebody’s son
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
I don’t care if it’s red, white, or blue

VERSE 2
“Everyone’s got a cell phone, everyone’s mind is blown”
Pass the torch to the next generation
“Everyone wants free shit, it’s a taxpayer’s pit”
Don’t forget your arthritis medication
“Everyone’s got a trophy, they can show it to their homies”
Okay, Boomer, enough is enough
“Everyone’s too sensitive, they always want sedatives”
I thought you old farts were so tough

CHORUS 2
Anytime black people protest
You clutch your pearls to your chest
Anytime we ask for justice
You gag like you’re disgusted
Anytime you spread Corona
You blame it all on California
It’s not a hit piece, where’s the lie?
Let the man child president cry

BRIDGE
BP gas up your ass
Light the very last match
Keep the bleach within your reach
Listen to the con artists preach
Have some fun with your guns
Shoot the shit out of everyone
It’s not a hit piece, fact check that
The golden goose is getting fat

VERSE 3
“Everywhere’s burning down, not in my hometown”
The signs have never been brighter
“Everywhere’s a sanctuary, turn them all to mortuaries”
My people are both lovers and fighters

CHORUS 3
Anytime we get a little angry
You pretend to be so saintly
It’s not a hit piece if it doesn’t slander
Find another place for your star-spangled banner
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
This world doesn’t revolve around you
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!

Zombieland

MOVIE TITLE: Zombieland
DIRECTOR: Ruben Fleischer
YEAR: 2009
GENRE: Zombie Apocalypse Comedy
RATING: R for violence and language
GRADE: Pass

As of the year I’m writing this review, which is 2020, the Corona Virus is sweeping the world and killing everyone it comes in contact with. This disease is bringing out the worst in humanity whether it’s violent rage (a la the Michigan anti-lockdown protestors) or deceptive behavior (a la Kenneth Copeland and Joel Osteen). If this mess keeps up, our world could very well come to an end. Wouldn’t you like a nice fun-filled movie to distract you from it all? That’s where Zombieland comes into play. I don’t want to say this movie was a prophecy back in 2009…but yeah, it was totally a prophecy. Granted, we haven’t gone full-zombie just yet, but the other ramifications have come to fruition thus far. Economic collapse, swindlers, incompetent leadership, and a bunch of cowboys playing with their shotguns. Yep. I’m sure this movie was just a coincidence at the time it was made.

If you think creating believable characters is hard to do within a silly comedy, just take a look at who we’ve got in this particular movie. Columbus wants to find a sense of family whether his biological one still exists or not. Tallahassee wants to munch on Twinkies because he appreciates the little things in life. And he just wants to kill zombies left and right. Cutthroat sisters Wichita and Little Rock want to steal as many resources as they can so that they can party it up at an amusement park in California. What do you notice from all of these character descriptions? They’re motivations. They have something that they’re willing to kill zombies for. Therefore, this is a character-driven zombie story. Didn’t think that was possible, did you? Notice how they’re not scrambling to save the entire world from the zombie apocalypse. They just want to cling onto a sense of normalcy no matter how small or temporary that may be. Isn’t that what we’re doing now with the Corona Virus: looking for something to comfort us? Totally not a prophecy.

I have one tiny little critique for this movie. Why would Columbus continue to trust Wichita and Little Rock after they’ve betrayed him and Tallahassee over and over again? They’re grifters. Deception is all they’re known for. Do they stop grifting by the end of the movie? Who knows? That’s not just me refusing to give spoilers; I actually want to know the answer to that. I guess this could all go back to Columbus wanting a sense of family in his life, so he keeps hoping and praying that the sisters change their ways just for him. Then again, Wichita was a femme fatale and part of that moniker is being seductive, either through attractiveness or just playing mind games. Columbus always wanted to brush a woman’s hair behind her ears. If that’s the case, then this whole movie is just him thinking below his belt. Wichita could burn down an orphanage and Columbus would still want to give her infinite chances. Yes, this is a comedy movie. Yes, Columbus is a dorky college kid. But…come on.

You want clever dialogue from every character involved? You want bloody action and excitement? You want a lesson on how to make believable characters? Ask and you shall receive it all in the form of Zombieland. You’ll get more than a few chuckles here and there. You’ll get a few life lessons that may come in handy as the age of Corona Virus progresses onward. You’ll love Woody Harrelson’s performance as the gun-toting cowboy Tallahassee. You’ll love Jesse Eisenberg’s performance as the spineless dork Columbus. Try not to think too hard about Columbus trusting people a little too easily, especially if they’re overly attractive. This was an enjoyable movie for me and for that reason I’m giving it four out of five stars.

Zombie Sex

VERSE 1

We need to talk about aliens and lizard men

I don’t even believe nor will I try to pretend

We need to talk about your conspiracy theories

And how you should save them for stories and queries

You can play with my brain like a lump of clay

Just kidding, little lady, there ain’t no fucking way

You believe in the strange, but not a witch’s hex

It was all supposed to lead up to zombie sex

Come here, baby

Zombie sex

VERSE 2

We need to talk about guns and the ammo inside them

And how you wear a big ass trench coat to hide them

Who exactly are you defending your white ass from?

If you need some gas money, I can loan you some

You can spray paint my brains all over the sidewalk

Just kidding, sweetheart, put away the body chalk

You can shoot like a cowboy sheriff named Tex

But I won’t give into your calls for zombie sex

Come here, lovely

Zombie sex

VERSE 3

We need to talk about the k-pop you blast from your speakers

And the trippy techno beats you play for the tweekers

And the hip-hop bass shattering my bedroom windows

If you explode my brain, that would make you a widow

Burn me a copy of what you’ll put on the loop

Just kidding, baby cakes, I like heavy metal groups

You can blow my eardrums on records and tape decks

I won’t change my tastes for a night of zombie sex

Come here, angel

Zombie sex

FINAL VERSE

I march to the beat of my own two bass drums

I won’t conform to you, do you think I’m dumb?

A real lady wouldn’t ask her man to change

Even if it means the love is far out of range

I don’t have the body of an incubus seducer

I just have the mind of a creative producer

When you take that away, what will you take next?

An hour of my time for vanilla zombie sex?

No way, baby

No zombie sex this time

No way, sweetheart

No tradeoff for my mind

Nobody Cares

VERSE 1

The world is on fire, dictators are liars

Nobody left on our planet to admire

We go through the motions every year

Drown our sorrows in drugs and beer

The other side wants to mock our tears

And divide us with their angry fears

Nobody cares that this is happening

The apathetic have become champions

CHORUS 1

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another rainstorm of bullets

Godly rhetoric is bullshit

VERSE 2

We could burn an orphanage tonight

Leave a beacon like a searchlight

Everyone would look the other way

Carry on like it’s just another day

We could steamroll our own young

When they grow a silver tongue

And nobody would give a damn

Despite performances of a ham

CHORUS 2

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another war with ourselves

Creating our own version of hell

BRIDGE

Sex is used as a weapon

The rapists go to heaven

The victims are crucified

Accused of spewing lies

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

VERSE 3

If one person could do enough

Then life wouldn’t be so tough

If one person’s voice truly mattered

We could put an end to the splatters

I wanted to believe that this was true

But there’s nothing I can do

Except play the role of the helpless

Call me lazy or call me selfish

CHORUS 3

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another day in paradise

Why can’t we all play nice?

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another day in the shitter

Leaves us cold and bitter

Another day in this winter

Is worth becoming a quitter

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Hokey Tonk

VERSE 1

If you want to be a real American hero

You need to sign up for the Big Ass War

The number of terrorists alive will be zero

They’ll all explode like July the Fourth

VERSE 2

If you don’t have a Social Security number

It means you were born in the back of a truck

Working through sickness will quench your hunger

This is America and here we don’t give a fuck

VERSE 3

If you want to own a big fucking machinegun

You have to be whiter than the Ku Klux Klan

Just pull the trigger and have an ass-load of fun

Teach your son to shoot so he can be a big man

VERSE 4

If you think this song is anything but a joke

You’re less educated than the state of Alabama

Blind patriotism is nothing more than a hoax

Especially when the racist judge bangs his hammer

FINAL LINE

Yee-haw, bitches! Roll Tide!

Whatever the fuck that means…

The Sadness Olympics

Melanie Chappell’s legs rattled underneath her graduation robe while her mind bombarded her with traumatic images. Every gunshot. Every scream of death. Every splatter of blood. And then the coup-de-grace: one final bullet from the shooter’s gun aimed at his own head. Just like that it was all over, but in Melanie’s numbed out brain, it still went on.

How dare these students and faculty members carry on without her? How dare they leave her behind while she suffered silently? Her grades could get her into any school she wanted, but all the A+’s in the world couldn’t take away pain that would last forever…or at least until she deemed fit to use the undetected metal device in her pocket.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our valedictorian, Miss Melanie Chappell!”

The numbness wore off as she realized Principal Jeff Nygard’s voice summoning her to the podium. She just then remembered she was at a graduation ceremony. It took too long for the applause to register in her mind. Even the fancy purple and green colors of Principal Nygard’s wizard-like robe blended in with the rest of Melanie’s pitch black world.

High heels aside, Melanie’s legs nearly buckled underneath her as she staggered to the podium. Going back to bed was better than listening to these claps, which sounded too much for her comfort like repetitive gunfire from an AR-15. Instead of cycling through what she was supposed to say, she contemplated what the acronym AR stood for. Asshole Redneck? Aryan Race? Ammosexual Romance? She would have smiled at that last one if she didn’t nearly fall over the podium. Luckily, Principal Nygard’s hands were there to catch her.

“I’m okay,” she unconvincingly whispered to Nygard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine…at least I think so.”

As Principal Nygard took his seat at the back of the stage, the concerned faces of graduating classmates washed over her war-like mind. While gunshots and blood splatters still smashed her mind into fragments, she believed the students’ reactions to be underwhelming for what had just happened a month ago. Had it really been a month? Or was it five seconds ago? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, she thought to herself.

Melanie attempted to adjust the microphone to her mouth and did so poorly. She stalled for time with a few halfhearted coughs. When time became a bigger enemy to her than the incel with the gun, she wiped away a singular tear and tried her damnedest to speak.

“Thank you all for coming out here today.” God, that sounded stupid, she thought. “I, uh…I know you all…this isn’t the end of…” Tears splashed around her eyeballs as she struggled to compose herself. Fuck it, I’ll go with it.

“A month ago, something awful happened at our school. I won’t go into the specifics of it since it’s fresh enough in everyone’s minds as it is. Many of our classmates died that day. Their families will never get to see them achieve greatness. Never see them smile again. Never erase those memories from their minds. And…while we can all agree to come together and give each other comfort and strength…not everyone on the internet sees it that way. In fact, there’s a…disgusting hashtag going around social media called The Sadness Olympics. It’s used by trolls who want to mock what we’ve been through, to protect their so-called second amendment rights, to…to…”

Melanie’s words became scrambled as silent tears dropped from her eyes like waterfalls. She could feel Principal Nygard’s hand on her shoulder, a sign of the comfort she spoke of before the most disgusting hashtag on the internet left her mouth. Jeff whispered, “If you need to leave the stage, you have my permission.”

“No! No…I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard. I’ve got this….”

Once he sat back down among all the other wizard-robe-wearing faculty members, rage bubbled from beneath Melanie’s skin like a murky, venomous swamp. Despite the tears rolling down her face, her expression said, “Do not fuck with me!” without those words actually coming off of her tongue.

“To whoever’s circulating that hashtag, I’ve got a message for you,” said Melanie. “You’re every bit as evil as the gunman who came to our school. You may not have pulled the trigger, but make no mistake about it, you’re a murderer!”

“Miss Chappell, please!” begged Principal Nygard.

“Shut up! I told you I’ve got this!” The whole auditorium along with the school Principal fell silent. “The fact that people think our suffering, my suffering is funny makes me sick to my stomach. People like that are the whole reason our country is going to shit.”

As the audience gasped at the swear word, Principal Nygard spoke up once again. “Miss Chappell, that’s enough! Please leave the stage, if not for us, then for your own benefit!”

“I told you I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard, now sit down and shut up! It’s what you do best!” His face grew red with embarrassment while his jaw nearly touched his lap. Melanie’s silver-tongued rhetoric continued. “The only thing that makes me sicker than that hashtag is the fact that it’s being used by some of our own students, many of whom are here today! I see you out there! You think this is comedy? Fine! You can laugh while your guts are spilling out of your body! You can literally laugh your head off as a bullet passes through it!

“And now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t be so mad that a shooter came to our school with a AR-15 or whatever the fuck it’s called! Hell, I would have come in with an army tank if I knew where to find one! I’d still be traumatized! I’d still wake up in the middle of the night trying to recover from a shitty dream! But you know what? If it means you hashtag warriors, you Sadness Olympics comedians, will get what’s coming to you, it’d be worth taking Xanax for the rest of my life! I can’t even afford it since it’s a controlled substance, but if Principal Nygard has taught me anything, it’s that it’s all in my head, a head which should be filled with ‘thoughts and prayers’, by the way!”

The students gasped once again as Nygard’s tone grew more serious. “One more outburst from you, Miss Chappell, and I’ll withhold your diploma! No more of this nonsense, you understand me?!”

Suddenly calming down, Melanie turned around to face her Principal with dewy eyes and a neon pink face. “Yeah…yeah, I understand, Mr. Nygard. I really shouldn’t have gotten off track like that. Sorry. I forgot we were supposed to be taking away each other’s pain, not shuffling it around.”

Facing the students again and adjusting the microphone nervously, Melanie’s streak of calmness continued. “Truth is, I don’t really have a solution to your traumas. I don’t even have a solution for my own. I don’t really know if we’re going to have another school shooting or not. I don’t know if we’re going to get more from our government than so-called ‘thoughts and prayers’.

“But one thing I do know…is that I don’t want any part of this. The graduation ceremony, the diploma, the college debt I’ll rack up…it’s all for nothing if my nightmares won’t leave me alone for even a few seconds. It’s all for nothing if internet trolls are just going to keep cracking jokes about us. So you know what I say? Before another horny incel has the chance to gun me down…I’ll strike first.”

In one swift motion, Melanie pulled a pistol out of her pocket and blew her own brains out, sending one final message to her fellow classmates. A message that hope is only an illusion, comedy isn’t fun anymore, and “thoughts and prayers” is just a phrase as empty as Melanie’s exploded skull. She could have sworn she heard screams everywhere around her, but only for a few seconds before her body went completely limp. What’s one more trauma to these people, right?

"Cecil's Pride" by The Hatkoff Family

BOOK TITLE: Cecil’s Pride: The True Story of a Lion King

AUTHORS: The Hatkoff Family

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Lion Biography

GRADE: Extra Credit

When Cecil the Lion was heartlessly killed by a trophy hunter, it sparked worldwide outrage and rightfully so. The subsequent debate on animal welfare and wildlife conservation led to new laws being put in place to protect future generations of lions. But to fully understand how important these new protections are, we must first understand how Cecil lived his life as the king of his pride. He wasn’t just a random animal. He was a loving protector and a social creature at heart. May he rest peacefully and may his pride continue his majestic bloodline.

Instead of just a barebones biography, Cecil’s story was treated as an actual story with a beginning, middle, and end. He was portrayed as a three-dimensional character with his strengths, flaws, and lovability. He fought other animals when his pride was threatened and he ran away only when necessary. And because lions like Cecil are social creatures, they bond with other prides for the sake of protection. This is a classic storytelling technique: two factions banding together to fight off a stronger villain. And when Cecil is eventually killed, the reader will care that much more about him. It was already an angering story to hear about on the news, but to see it in this book is that much more heartbreaking. Cecil’s portrayal as a regal figure and a dynamic character in a much larger story is what makes this book special enough to deserve an extra credit grade.

In addition to employing storytelling techniques, this book also has an educational side to it. Because these two qualities work side-by-side with each other, it’ll be a guaranteed hit with students of all ages. You’ll learn why lions are important to Africa’s ecosystem. You’ll learn why they attract so many mates at a time. You’ll even learn a few statistics about animal extinction and why conservation is more important now than it has been in the past. Education shouldn’t stop when school is over. You can get more out of this book than just trivial facts. You can learn empathy. You can learn how to be an activist. You can do some good in this world with these forty pages shaping your mind. Put down the hunting rifle. Put down the bow and arrow. The only shooting you should be doing is with a high shutter speed camera.

Speaking of which, the lion photographs in this book are magnificent to look at. Cecil looks like a proud king when he watches over his families. His cubs look like little cuties when they practice their roars. His lionesses look seductive when lying about with their mates. Cecil even looks alert and ready to protect his pack when he’s doing something as mundane as drinking from the river. The African landscape is more than just a place for wild animals to do battle. It’s a kingdom. It’s an empire. It’s a society that must be protected from the cruelty of guns and crossbows. These pictures do the lions justice a hundred times over. Even the drawings have that kind of power over the reader.

It’s easy to balk at this book for being targeted towards small children. There are also a few who will contrast Cecil’s death to those of aborted fetuses. There are even those who question why lion lives matter to begin with. To those who would easily brush this book aside, I say give it one chance to change your heart. It’s forty pages and it’s mostly pictures. You’re not sacrificing much when picking this book up for a quick read. If anything, you’ll be better off for the experience. Keep your eyes and mind open and you’ll want to give this book an extra credit grade as well.