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

 

Leopold from "Kate & Leopold" vs. Eric Bischoff: Farmer's Bounty Tastes Better

 

Hulk Hogan

 

Andre the Giant

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

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

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

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

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

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

BOOK TITLE: Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven

AUTHOR: Brandon Easton

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

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

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

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

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

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

America's Funniest Hardcore Violence

“Warning: the following program is rated TV-MA-LV. It contains strong language and graphic violence. It is intended for a mature audience. Good Intentions Productions does not endorse nor condone the displays of violence shown in this program and discourages the audience from recreating them. Enjoy the show!”

Good Intentions, my ass, thought Vanessa Rollins as she sat in the audience with folded arms and a death stare.

After the narrator got his disclaimers out of the way, two stage lights danced in front of the audience while a timpani drum-roll sounded off across the studio. The narrator’s voice boomed once again over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, who will take home the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars? Who is the funniest? Who is the nastiest? Who is the goriest? Find out tonight! Live from the Preparation H Pavilion in Paulson City, it’s America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence!”

Everyone sans Vanessa (who shook her head) applauded once the happy trumpet music blasted and the stage illuminated. “And now, here is the host of AFHV: Colin “The Thrill” McGill!” The audience rose to their feet and applauded at their loudest when Colin McGill ran out onstage in his goofiest plaid suit and his cheesiest shit-eating grin.

“Thank you, thank you, everyone! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” greeted Colin as the audience sat back down. “Welcome to America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence: the show where everything is made up and the screams for help don’t matter. The screams are like…steak sauce in India!” The audience let out an “ooo” while Vanessa cradled her face in disgust.

“We’re not going to waste any more time, we’re going to get right to the final three entries in our AFHV tournament. Which one of these videos will take home the big money and fabulous prizes? Will it be…Fire in the Hulk?”

The video wall behind Colin McGill featured a look alike of WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan bent over an ottoman, cheesy blond moustache, red and yellow latex suit, and dark sunglasses to boot. “Well, let me tell you something, brother!” shouted the impersonator. “Whatcha gonna do when Hulkamania blows his fecal matter all over you!”

With Hulk’s pants around his ankles and a dynamite stick poking out of his ass crack, the cameraman lit the fuse while the audience grinned widely with anticipation. Vanessa’s saucer-eyed horror seemed justified when the dynamite exploded. Hogan’s eyes crossed, he screamed in a gruff macho voice, and shit flooded from the brand new hole in his ass like a mudslide. The audience laughed their asses off while Vanessa Rollins held her hand over her mouth in shock. What the hell is wrong with these people? she thought.

“Our second entry of the night…”

Oh god, please no…

“Dead Motherfucker!” beamed Colin as the video wall came to life once again.

A young man stepped down from the sidewalk only to be slammed into by a honking car, sending him flying across the road…only to be hit by another car and sent flying again…only to be hit by a train and sent flying again…only to have his nose cut off by an in-transit helicopter’s propellers. The laughing audience was bad enough, but the money line came when the pilot smiled and said, “That’s one dead motherfucker!”

Vanessa held her ears closed to try in vain to block out the obnoxious chuckling among her fellow audience members.

“And our third entry for the night…Saw Blade! Meet the Saw Blade!”

The video wall showed a Fred Flintstone look alike bound to a torture table with a ball gag in his mouth. He was awakened by the grinding sound of a circular saw overhead, spinning and lowering towards the cartoon caveman. The audience hee-hawed while Fred struggled in his bindings and screamed in his He-Man voice. He managed to chew through the ball gag and yell, “WILMA!” like only he could. It was too late. The saw blade cut open Fred Flintstone’s stomach and revealed that he had blood in his Fruity Pebbles stream.

“And here I thought Fruity Pebbles was the nickname for his balls!” joked Colin McGill, which had the audience dying of laughter quicker than Fred Flintstone died of mutilation.

The one person who refused to laugh at all of this “dark comedy” was Vanessa Rollins, who after a while of tucking her head in her hands stood right up and yelled, “Is this what you people call comedy?! Watching people die in front of you makes you laugh?!” That quickly shut up the audience, watching her seethe with face-reddening anger.

“Well, look who’s come to spoil the fun for everyone. It’s the Sheriff of the PC Police! It’s the New York Time Waster! It’s the fake journalist from Cancer News Network also known as CNN! Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Buzz Kill Feed herself, Vanessa Rollins!” mocked Colin, which earned a round of boos directed toward the journalist.

Vanessa threw down her notepad and pen and bellowed, “This isn’t about political correctness! This is about basic human decency! People are dying so that you can have a ratings spike in your little show! That’s not comedy! That’s exploitation and it’s wrong! How have the police not arrested you and your production crew yet?!”

Straightening the breasts on his plaid jacket, Colin said, “Well, for starters, Miss MSNBC-Section, it’s not like I’m the one murdering these people. All I do is show the footage on the screen. Is it disgusting? Probably. But is broadcasting it illegal? Far from it. You media motherfuckers get away with it all the time when you show soldiers getting their limbs blown off overseas. Yeah, and I’m the one who needs a TV-MA rating. And speaking of which, Miss FCC-You-Next-Tuesday, a TV-MA rating is all I need to make sure nothing illegal is going on.”

Flailing her arms about in frustration, Vanessa said, “So that’s it? You need a TV rating to tell you what you can and can’t do on the air, let alone in the real world? How about if I punch you in the face and you can put an MA rating on that! It’s no worse than what you’re showing these people, if you want to call them that. Plus, since violence is so fucking hilarious, how about I help boost your ratings with a good clean shot right to your face?!”

Colin’s face transformed from comedic lightheartedness to sour anger as he threw his jacket on the floor and waved Vanessa over. “Go ahead, sweetheart! Come at me, Cluster Fox! Let’s see what you’re made of!”

Vanessa threw her own jacket down and fought her way through the audience to the side stairwell. She even kicked off her high heels knowing they would give her a disadvantage in a fight, although that didn’t stop some redneck from shouting, “Nice feet, bitch!” Before the journalist could respond, a child’s foot hooked her ankle and she tumbled down the stairs to the audience’s laughter as well as Colin’s.

Every part of Vanessa’s body ached with slash marks from hitting the stair corners and bruises from hitting the ground at such a high speed. The audience’s laughter buzzed in and out of her slogging mind, but the sadistic grin on the child’s face was what kept her awake through it all. “Is this…what…you’re teaching…your kids?” she managed to sputter out.

The tiny kid stood up in his seat and said, “Hey, I only tripped you! I didn’t take your clothes off!” Another burst of laughter poured from the audience’s sewer holes while Colin was slapping his thighs with comedic gold.

Tears welled up in Vanessa’s eyes while she grabbed the stair railing and poorly attempted to lift herself to her feet. She could have sworn her legs and ankles were broken, judging from how much agony wiggling her toes put her in. Every time she would grab the railing, she would fall off again and that would make the audience’s laughter even more grating than before. One last hurrah and she collapsed onto the floor ready to give up.

The laughter ended when a device fell out of Vanessa’s jacket pocket. Everyone thought she felt around her torso for broken ribs, but it was really to pull out something that stayed intact this whole time: a microphone and a wire. Instead of laughing, the studio went deathly silent with shock and awe.

“I…I…” Colin pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t understand. There’s no way my security team would let you in with that.”

Vanessa lifted her mangled head and smiled through crooked teeth. Spitting one of them out, she said, “Security? You mean the wanted thugs with criminal records a mile long? The ones I recorded feeling me up before I entered the building? Yeah, they’re taking the night off tonight…and the night after that…and the night after that…and the night after that…”

With the wire gathering enough information, Vanessa could finally plop her face down and allow the sounds of police boots to trample across the studio. To her it was like new age music putting her to sleep at night. She actually could sleep at night hearing the one sentence no criminal like Colin McGill wanted to hear: “You have the right to remain silent.” Except he didn’t remain silent. He bawled like a bitch on his way to the police van.

Extremism, Vol. 2

***EXTREMISM, VOL. 2***

You will learn a lot of things under the teaching tree of Marie Krepps, CEO of Hollow Hills. One of those valuable lessons relates to protagonist sympathy. If you want your readers to side with your protagonist, he or she cannot, I repeat, cannot be worse than the story’s villains. This sounds like common sense to a lot of people, but it’s a lesson I’ve spent a lifetime learning. I’m the same guy who once wrote a piece of high school fiction where the lead character gets a D- in history and then confesses to his girlfriend that he now relates to the Columbine kids. Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.

Extremism of this caliber is not uncommon in this wacky world of ours. I tried to express that in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Thunder Zell, where the lead character, Jacob Tate, crashes his cheating girlfriend’s dinner date…by driving a goddamn tank through the walls of a Chinese restaurant. Now, let’s see here…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…which one could possibly be more life-threatening? Which one seems less reasonable out of the two? Although there are some jilted lovers out there who would enjoy the idea of driving a tank into their ex’s personal space, that’s probably not something you want to admit in real life.

Speaking of jilted lovers, here comes a wrestling example of extremism! Yay! You know, because I can’t shut up about wrestling since it’s all I think about 24/7? Back in 2009, WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan was going through a rough divorce with his wife and during that time she was dating a 19-year-old friend of their daughter’s. Here’s the exact quote Hulk Hogan gave to the media: “I could have turned everything into a crime scene, like OJ [Simpson], cutting everybody’s throat. You live a half a mile from the 24,000 square-foot home you can’t go to anymore and you see some 19-year-old kid driving through downtown Clearwater [Florida] in your Escalade, and you know that 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed with your wife. I totally understand OJ. I get it.”

Now let’s see here…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old….It was obviously a trying time for Hulk Hogan and he was frustrated beyond belief. But then he starts channeling OJ Simpson and…yeah, not good. Not good at all. What other horrible people could be channeled? Let’s say you’re a dude working up the courage to ask a girl on a date. She calmly says no to you, so you go online and say, “I could have turned that whole neighborhood into a crime scene, like ER [Eliot Rodger], shooting everybody in the face.” Yes, rejection hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt badly enough that you feel like shooting people in the face. Besides the fact that women are allowed to say no to whomever they want and that’s how it should be, you’re not going to be the hero of your story if you can’t keep ER’s name out of your mouth.

But I’m just talking about bad judgment when giving media or online statements. What about actions to back those threats up? It still stands to reason that no hero should behave worse than the villains they’re fighting. To use a real world example that hits close to home for a lot of people, police brutality. The police are hailed as these superheroes who can do no wrong no matter how violent they are, yet there are some bad apples in every department who abuse their power and murder their suspects for minimal shit. Whenever a police officer commits murder or assault, he or she is almost always acquitted and praised as a hero by the public at large. While not all officers are like this, enough of them are, so many in fact that the Black Lives Matter movement became a necessity in the first place.

Obviously, some of these examples of extreme behavior are worse than others, but if you’re in the writing business like I am, take notice. As an author, it’s your job to make your protagonist as relatable and sympathetic as possible. That doesn’t mean he or she can’t be a villain at heart. It doesn’t mean that he or she can’t do questionable things every now and then. But if your protagonist is just one big bucket of gore for no rhyme or reason and your antagonist is more relatable by comparison, your readers are going to tune out and you’ve got lots of one and two-star reviews to look forward to. I learned this lesson the hard way many times in my career and hopefully the lesson will stick this time around. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I never cared about the money, never really needed fame. You think it would have changed me, but I’ve always been the same. My label tried to sue me. TMZ tried to screw me. Blabber Mouth can fuck itself ‘cause they never fucking knew me. Everybody seems like they’re waiting for me to die. Talk shit behind my back, can’t look me in the eye. They say I’m overrated, that I should have already faded. Don’t give a shit about it all because I love to be so hated. I barely get to eat and when I finally get to sleep, I get dragged out of bed for another meet-and-greet. I shake the hand of every fan and put on a happy face. I’m spread so fucking thin that I’m all over the place. I hate riding on the bus. I hate flying in the plane. Sedating myself just to kill the pain. I have no life, gave up on hope. The whole thing’s turned into one big joke. I mean no disrespect, but I ain’t picking up the check. Taking selfies on your phone while you’re breathing down my neck. It’s getting pretty fucking old and I’m almost nearly done. I’m glad that you were happier when I was number one. All in all it’s a good life. I got what I want. I can’t complain. I’m living the good life. A toast to you now. It’s all sham pain.”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “Sham Pain”-

Dumb Ass Shit

***DUMB ASS SHIT***

One of the things we share as human beings is a tendency to make mistakes, especially during our younger years when we’re just figuring out the world. To put it in harsher terms, we’ve all said and done…say it with me…dumb ass shit. Nobody is immune to this, because nobody is perfect. As long as you don’t cross the Moral Event Horizon (rape, murder, etc.), you’re entitled to make these little mistakes that you can learn from. If you’ve ever watched a Young Turks video where they’re discussing a teenaged subject, you’ll notice that the pundits can be forgiving of them because they too said and did…say it again…dumb ass shit when they were younger.

Yes, it’s true, ladies and gentlemen: I too have a history of saying and doing dumb ass shit, especially as it relates to the internet. I’ve looked back at some of the things I’ve posted on my Deviant Art, Blogger, and Face Book accounts and I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I could just delete these posts, but seeing as how there are so fucking many of them, it’ll take more time than I care to spend. Many of the things I’ve posted could be construed as bigoted in some way, though my intentions were only to be “edgy” or “funny”. I just read a nonfiction essay I wrote in 2009 called “Class of ‘13” where I accuse teenagers of being text-messaging queens that need strict discipline. Holy shit, did I really expect people to laugh at that? What about Hardcore Harry, a Harry Potter parody where the main character says he’s afraid of Draco Malfoy’s “homosexual urges”. Shaking my head, folks. Shaking my head.

Apparently, it took me a long time for me to mature throughout the years, because I’ve been saying dumb shit in 2014 as well. My blogger.com posts at the time were riddled with depressing anecdotes about songs that made me cry or romantic couples in fiction that made me wish I had love too. One of my now deleted books, Foe vs. Blade, has an introductory chapter where I list off all of the major bad shit that’s happened in my life from high school until the date of publication. It wasn’t until 2015 that I started posting about positive things in my life and, surprise, surprise, I became a happier person because of it. I knew Rhonda Byrne’s book would come in handy someday.

So, I don’t know if you the audience plan on digging through my internet postings, but if you see something buried beneath the happy and accepting stuff that could be construed as “dumb ass shit”, know that I am no longer proud of such things. Being “edgy” isn’t nearly as important as being intelligent and wise. Even the edgiest of edgy artists have to have a reason for their R-rated jokes. I’ve said and done my fair share of stupid shit in my life and I’ve learned from all of it. This is not a cheap attempt at obtaining forgiveness, but if I keep kicking myself over these things, then I’m forever stuck in the past. We can all grow from our mistakes and become decent people.

I figured writing this blog would be easier than going through my internet history and wiping it clean of…say it again…dumb ass shit. But even if I was able to give my internet history the Mr. Clean treatment, there’s that old adage of things being on the internet forever. So instead, I’m going to say this: I’m sorry for all the dumb ass shit. It’s not me, it’s not who I want to be, and it’s not important to my career. Let’s move forward. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

As long as we’re on the topic of dumb ass shit, here’s something I attempted months ago, but never got off the ground. It’s called “Hardcore Hogan” (not to be confused with “Hardcore Harry”) and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
2. Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
3. Kasabian, Alien Lord
4. Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

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

-George Carlin-

"Wrestlecrap" by RD Reynolds and Randy Baer

BOOK TITLE: Wrestlecrap: the Very Worst of Pro Wrestling

AUTHORS: RD Reynolds and Randy Baer

YEAR: 2003

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

The history of professional wrestling has seen its fair share of colorful characters and soap opera storylines. Wrestlecrap documents the silliest of those gimmicks from the cartoonish WWF days in the 1980’s all the way to 2003 when the book was published. Whether it’s a voodoo priest named Papa Shango who put curses on his opponents, a magician who was one monocle away from looking like Mr. Peanut, or a baseball player named MVP (Most Violent Player) to name just a few, the idea was for various wrestling promoters to throw something out there and to see what stuck. In many cases, they’re simply throwing wrestle-crap.

The first quality I’d like to praise this book for is the historical significance and research that went into writing it. The authors traced the first real gimmick back to the 1950’s, when Gorgeous George, an effeminate and arrogant athlete, would spray his opponents with perfume so that they didn’t stink up the joint. In the 1980’s, Vince McMahon, CEO of WWF, would take this inspiration and create the colorful characters that era was known for, whether it was the muscle-bound superhero Hulk Hogan or the corrupt millionaire Ted DiBiase. The late 90’s saw a period of more realistic shades of gray characters with TV-14 rated bloodbaths and sex angles. But just like the end of this biography says: the less things change, the more they stay the same. New company, same old wrestle-crap. While some gimmicks stood the test of time, most of them were too unbelievable to be taken seriously. Even in the year 2017, nothing has changed.

As long as we’re having a laugh at these bizarre characters (not the wrestlers portraying them, mind you), feel free to enjoy the lighthearted and comedic writing style employed in this book. The style comes off as extremely sarcastic and razor-tongued, but there are also some good zingers in there to leave you chuckling as well. I mentioned the Mr. Peanut analogy in the opening paragraph. There’s also a line about how Mantaur, a guy dressed in a bull suit, looks like his costume was made by a deranged taxidermist at Disney World. My favorite zinger in this whole book would have to be the author’s answer to, “What could be better than [the plot of the Ready to Rumble movie]?” A trip to the dentist. Getting beaten with a lead pipe. A Pauley Shore movie marathon. I got a few chuckles just transcribing those lines. If wrestling gimmicks and storylines are going to be silly, then expect nothing less than a hearty laugh.

While it’s nice to have a few laughs at the expense of the characters, never forget that RD Reynolds and Randy Baer are wrestling fans to the core, which means they know when it’s time to get serious. Remember, they’re poking fun at the characters, not the people playing them. They have all the respect in the world for anybody who dares get in a wrestling ring to ply their craft. It’s a tough job that taxes the human body like nothing else. That’s why when I read about Renegade’s suicide, it legitimately broke my heart. Say what you want about the guy’s wrestling ability, but he didn’t deserve to have a gimmick completely ruin his life and send him spiraling into the path he took. The way that segment was written was done tastefully and respectfully, which is more than anybody could say about the promoters who saddled the wrestlers with these awful gimmicks.

One thing I will criticize the book for is its occasional grammatical errors. I say occasional because they don’t happen often enough for me to downplay the fun I had reading this book. But noticeable they are, such as when there are dashes in between words that are already whole. It’s as if the book formatting placed the hyphenated words at the end of a sentence in the middle of the paragraph. It looks awkward and doesn’t paint a good picture of anybody who takes up writing as a profession. However, I still give this book a passing grade for knowing when to be funny, knowing when to be serious, and caring enough about the sport to delve into its history. Wrestlecrap is nothing to sneeze at (the book, not the actual crap).

Average Joes vs. Beefy Warriors

***AVERAGE JOES VS. BEEFY WARRIORS***

When I first started out in the amateur writing business in 2001 (back when I told people my favorite author was Jack McKinney and they’d scratch their fucking heads in confusion), I always made sure that my main characters were super buff war machines capable of slashing and pounding everything into shit. My first attempt at a novel was a Starcraft-esque sci-fi adventure where the main character, Deljack, had muscles the size of cannonballs and an assault rifle bigger than his body. And then I moved onto a videogame idea called Final Fantasy Hardcore, where my protagonist was the ever popular Deus Shadowheart, a dual-wielding barbarian with a suit of power armor and even thicker muscles underneath in case he had to stop a nuclear missile from penetrating his skin.

Back in my teenage years, I didn’t see the problem with having such overpowered warriors as main characters. Videogames at the time had plenty of them with all the Akumas and Mike Haggars of the world. And then it wasn’t until the 2010’s when I started learning about Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus. They are literary slurs for characters who are devoid of flaws and therefore don’t garner a lot of sympathy from the reader. After all, when you know in your heart of hearts that the Gary-Stu barbarian is going to win all the fucking time, it’s no fun to read about him. As a writer, you want your battles to be back and forth affairs where the protagonist loses every once and a while. For all of you rasslin’ buddies out there, more Daniel Bryans, less Hulk Hogans.

I didn’t start using average joe characters until I wrote my 2015 rough draft novel Watch You Burn. The lead character in that novel is Mario Bryan, a schizophrenic college student who spends more time watching cartoons than he does exercising. He’s socially awkward and sometimes dickish, but he’s well-meaning and has a good heart. Do you think a dork like Mario Bryan can overcome a nasty ogre who carries war hammers with the ease of pencils? Of course you don’t, which is why Mario has to work his ass off if he wants to achieve his end game.

Another first draft novel I’ve written, Demon Axe, also has a protagonist with an underdog story. Yes, Daniel Mercer a.k.a. the Lord of the Pit is a world famous rock star, but what does he really have as far as advantages go when he has to fight the ultra-powerful terrorist Roger Zee? Daniel’s only been in a handful of bar fights in his life, he’s easily traumatized, he’s also kind of dickish at times (like Mario Bryan before him), but Daniel has a heart of gold that will lead him through the dark times of politically-motivated violence.

Occupy Wrestling, I must confess, has a Gary-Stu as one of its main characters and his name is Mitch McLeod. He’s beefy, he’s badass, and he’s got a mean streak a mile wide. Rehabbing this character into something a little more sympathetic wasn’t easy, but hopefully the end result as you see it has paid off. Occupy Wrestling is currently on Amazon and other online retailers (not a shameless plug at all).

At first I thought writing about average joes instead of badass warriors was going to suck badly because I couldn’t think of any solutions to the average joes’ problems. But that’s what writing is all about: you’ve got to constantly think about how your story is going to play out. Sure, there are advice columns out there that will tell you to pour word vomit all over your page and let your beta readers and editors do the hard work. But even then, after all the word vomit is spilled, the job is far from over. It won’t be over until everything is polished and sparkling, part of which is owed to coming up with believable solutions to your characters’ problems. If you’ve read Occupy Wrestling and think I’m a hypocrite when I make these arguments, that’s a debate victory you can have all to yourself.

I’d like to think that beefy warrior stories are capable of being written without making the characters into Gary-Stus and Mary-Sues. I haven’t figured it out myself yet, but I know it can be done. The Wonder Woman movie that recently came out is a huge example of that. Yes, she’s a superheroine with badass powers, but she’s also a feminist icon with a female following worldwide, so she’s not much of a Mary-Sue. This is why we study characters at depth: because we want our audience to sympathize with our protagonists and therefore stay emotionally invested in our works. If your readers aren’t invested, why are they reading? We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

My story for the WSS has been submitted, so now it’s time to work independently (or when the next contest starts up, whichever happens first). This next PTT2 story is called “Witch Hunt” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Sonya Jade, Devon’s Best Friend

2.      Devon Cross, Accused Witch

3.      Random Group of Witch Hunters

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: In the middle ages, Sonya is at home cooking a delicious meal when her best friend Devon rushes in her house looking for a place to hide from witch hunters. Sonya believes Devon when the latter says her witch accusations are false and agrees to hide her underneath the master bed. Witch hunters show up at Sonya’s door with pitch forks and torches wondering where Devon is. Before the hunters have the chance to set fire to the house, Devon uses magic powers to fight them off, thus revealing she really is a witch and that she lied to Sonya about it.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

With this new crop of American Darkness 2 characters parading around in my drawing collection, I’ve been contemplating changing the name of this series from Dark Fantasy Warriors to something else. Not everybody who gets a drawing is part of the dark fantasy genre, much like Fatima Ruiz, who’s next on the chopping block. Fatima comes from the AD2 short story “How Could You?” and plays the role of a cartel boss’s daughter. She has no magical powers, just a bad attitude and a sexy mystique. I’ve certainly got my work cut out for me on this one. Wish me luck!

***CROSSOVER MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CHILDLIKE EMPRESS: Why won’t you do what you dream?

CRAZY K: ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck!

CHILDLIKE EMPRESS: Please! Save us!

CRAZY K: I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!

-Tales from the Hood X The Never Ending Story-

Robotic Junkyard

***ROBOTIC JUNKYARD***

Just like with the Necrocosm, the Robotic Junkyard will be another opportunity for creative fuel, whether you’re a writer yourself or an artist of another genre. Really, this blog entry is just an excuse to give you updates on my life, but as long as I’m flapping my gums, I might as well give you a prompt suggestion. You could write a whole novel or short story around it. You could paint a picture of it. You could completely ignore it. No matter what you choose, I’m keeping the buffet table of creative food for thought open all night. You can come back for seconds, thirds, and maybe even the dessert version of food for thought.

The idea of a robotic junkyard isn’t new, but it’s also something I’ve only seen one time and I’d like to see it more often. In other words, it’s highly underrated for all of the potential it could have. I think it was Mega Man 7 for the Super Nintendo that had a boss enemy called Junk Man. His stage was the robotic junkyard and the gimmick was basically throwing mechanical parts at Mega Man until he was junk himself. Morph Moth from Mega Man X2 might have also had a robotic junkyard for a stage, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure.

Either way, getting mechanical robot parts thrown at you doesn’t feel very good, or so I’m told. Imagine getting clocked upside the head by a flying hubcap. Maybe a flying saw blade would be worse. Maybe a broken down machine will come to life and beat your ass into nuts and bolts. And this is just the overhead level. Once you get underground, then the metal parts will really start to fly. I could have just as easily said, “The shit really starts to hit the fan,” because that would be just as accurate.

I experimented with these ideas back in 2011 when I wrote a novelette called “Thunder Ballz”. Yes, you read that correctly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about that. It was a hybrid of Dragon Ball Z and Mega Man X written by a member of Generation Y. I just used X, Y, and Z in the same sentence. High five! Anyways, this novelette read more like a game of Mega Man X with the number of different places the characters went to and how they defeated their chief enemies in short order. One of the places was a robotic junkyard and the boss battle ended when the upper level of junk came crashing down on the villain. Ouch! That’s a lot of goddamn metal! More metal than the Pain in the Grass concert I’m going to later this month!

Obviously, Thunder Ballz never went anywhere even when all eleven chapters were written. But really, how could you expect it to when the whole objective of the story was to find lizard testicles. Again, I’m not profiting in any way by telling you this. In fact, I’m making my younger self sound like a total toolbox. Hehe! What this means is that the robotic junkyard idea is still up for grabs if I want to recycle it into another story. Heh, I said “recycle” in a conversation about junkyards.

If I was hosting a D&D campaign with a metallic scrapheap as the villain’s main base of operations, there are a few questions I need to answer for myself before starting the game. One, who in their right mind would want to live in a dingy place like a junkyard, and two, why are robotic limbs in the same universe as a fantasy role-playing game? While living in a pigsty isn’t always ideal to us semi-civilized humans, it would be for a tribe of orcs, ogres, or goblins. To answer the second question, if Magic: the Gathering can get away with using futuristic technology, so can D&D. They are, after all, distant cousins of one another since they were invented by Wizards of the Coast.

So you have the dirtiest and most classless races of monsters living in this scrapheap. Now what? What could possibly drive a wandering group of adventurers into this suicide mission? If they’re looking for priceless artifacts, they’d have just as much luck as a hobo diving in a dumpster: none. If a bounty head is hiding out here, that would be a little more realistic. He has protection from the disgusting creatures and, let’s face it, nobody would ever think to look in a place like this because nobody would want to hold their nose for that long. My mother, bless her soul, doesn’t even like being around wild rats. Adventurers like being around smell places even less. When you think about wanderlust and magical battles, a robotic junkyard isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.

But what kind of clues would you, the DM slash author, have to leave behind for someone to even consider digging through a place like this? New shipments? Bills? Noises? Activity? Or maybe one of the protective villains gets unlucky and can’t shake the adventurers off his tail, so he unknowingly leads them into the junkyard. Then again, maybe finding this hellhole of metallic crap isn’t such a good thing after all. You’ve still got swinging motors and flying anvils to duck and dodge. Don’t worry about getting a concussion, because you won’t be alive long enough to experience it!

So how about it, my creative brothers and sisters? Do you have any heroes who are crazy and/or stupid enough to want to go on a suicide mission in a metal scrapheap? Actually, it’s not considered good form to have stupid people for main heroes, unless you’re filming Forrest Gump. If your heroes are going to poke around a dangerous and filthy place, they’d better have a damn good reason. A dead body, a live body with a criminal past, or even an accidentally placed valuable artifact (which would be rare) would tickle the senses of even the most conservative adventurers. If you must adventure in the junkyard, the least you could do is take a gas mask with you. Breathing through your mouth doesn’t actually do anything to sooth the bad smell; that’s just a myth.

***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***

If you’ve already heard me talk about this on Face Book, feel free to ignore this section and move onto the next. But it’s true, people: last night I went to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and they tore the motherfucking house down. They were heavy, they were creative, they were scary as hell, and they were fun to watch. While Slipknot was playing “Killpop”, I sang along with them in the most aggressive and passionate voice I could muster up. Apparently, this was enough for a guy to fist-bump me and for a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat to kiss the back of my hand. In the foolishly-written words of Anastasia Steele from “Fifty Shades of Grey”, my face was the color of the Communist Manifesto after that kiss. All in all, it was a fun-filled, magical night. On Sunday August 21^st, I get to do this all again at the annual Pain in the Grass festival headlined by Disturbed.

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Despite the energy I’ve spent over the past few days, I’m definitely competing in this week’s “Celestial” contest. I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to write “Hardcore Hogan”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling

Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego

Kasabian, Alien Lord

Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kasabian’s ship is flying through the celestial bodies.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Looks like I’ve got another Occupy Wrestling villain on my plate and his name is Dovald. He used to have a last name, but I can’t remember what it was and Marie and I both agreed that he shouldn’t have one. Lots of WWE wrestlers only have one name like Kane, Konnor, Viktor, and Kalisto just to name a few. Dovald’s gimmick is that of a dark paladin with thick metal armor and a big fucking flail. The worst part about him? He has a tag team partner named Garra who’s every bit as brutal and badass. Of course, when the time comes to draw Garra, he won’t look anything like Dovald. They may be twins in Occupy Wrestling, but they don’t have to be twins in my drawing gallery.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“It’s not a war on drugs; it’s a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times. Thank you and have a nice day.”

-Bill Hicks-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Hey, that could be another reason why someone would want to go to a robotic junkyard: drugs! There could be a meth lab on the underground floor! A perfect place for filthy and freaky people to hide out!

"A Lion's Tale" by Chris Jericho

BOOK TITLE: A Lion’s Tale: Around the World in Spandex

AUTHOR: Chris Jericho (with Peter Thomas Fornatale)

YEAR: 2007

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Memoir

GRADE: Pass

From humble beginnings in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada to landing his dream job in the WWE, Chris Jericho details the many hardships and hilarious moments he went through on his quest to be a well-known professional wrestler. As a child, he would watch Hulk Hogan, The British Bulldogs, and the Hart Family on TV and in the arenas dominating their competition and putting on a show. This prompted Jericho to want to train at the infamous Hart Dungeon, where students were pushed to their breaking point with painful submission holds and wrestling tactics. Jericho would continue to gain experience around the world in places like Mexico, Japan, Germany, and eventually in the good old US of A. It was only a matter of time until the Titan Tron counted down the seconds before Y2J’s official entrance into the WWE. A legend was born that night.

If you’ve ever wanted to know what the wrestling business was like behind the curtain, Chris Jericho was more than happy to tell you in his memoir. Every aspiring wrestler had to have an extreme amount of physical and mental toughness in order to take as many athletic risks as they do. Jericho didn’t even have a breaking point when it came to the abuse he took. Knowing how to wrestle was only the first half. The second half of what the industry entails is having the business sense and creativity to negotiate yourself into winning predicaments and having a good gimmick to go with them. Chris Jericho comes off as an encyclopedia of this kind of knowledge, which is one of the reasons he’s a respected legend in the industry today.

Of course, the other thing that made this book memorable was his quick-paced, humorous writing style. He can get away with using pop culture references and one-liner jokes, because neither of those two things bogs down the storytelling. Even the laziest reader could get through all five-hundred plus pages of this book and feel like a champion afterwards. Chris Jericho knows what the people want and it’s a chuckle-worthy and delightfully-honest memoir. An example of his sense of humor comes when he gets in a brawl with a former convict and says, “I’m going to throw hands with you Winnipeg style!” What the hell does that even mean? Yes, the ex-convict was laughing too. If the reader was to flip to a random page in the book, he would find a lighthearted line somewhere in there, even during some of the dour moments of the book. Never a dull moment!

The only gripe I have about this book is so minor that it doesn’t take away from the four stars I plan on giving it. I would have liked to see him go into a little more detail about some of his wrestling matches. I’m sure a few descriptions of the choreography and storytelling wouldn’t have slowed the pace down at all. When I read Ronda Rousey’s memoir earlier this year, she went into full detail about how she beat the crap out of her opponents on the judo mats and in the MMA cage. While Chris Jericho could easily be just as descriptive, it’s not the biggest flaw this book has. In fact, any reader will enjoy it no matter what walk of life he comes from.

Do you like stories about overcoming adversity, toughing it out, and making dreams come true in the end? Look no further than “A Lion’s Tale” by Chris Jericho. It’s fast, intelligent, and hilarious throughout the whole thing. The sorrowful moments are few and far between, but they’re still important to this man’s story and the writing about them was executed perfectly. There are a few people who would be uncomfortable with Chris Jericho constantly praising Chris Benoit (a wrestler who murdered his wife and son before committing suicide in 2007). However, as the author’s not clearly states, this book was published before Chris Benoit’s double murder-suicide, so Jericho had no way of knowing what the hell was going to happen. If you’re really bothered that much Benoit’s presence in the book, toughen up like Chris Jericho has throughout his career. This is an awesome book and you shouldn’t expect anything less from the former six-time WWE Champion and nine-time Intercontinental Champion.

Dark Fantasy Gimmicks in Wrestling

***DARK FANTASY GIMMICKS IN WRESTLING***

There actually used to be a time in the history of professional wrestling where everybody took it seriously and didn’t question its fictitious nature. When Hulk Hogan body slammed Andre the Giant, it was a proud American moment. When the N.W.O. took over WCW, it felt like being a part of the battlefield. Suspending disbelief was as easy with professional wrestling as it was with movies and television shows. And then the internet boomed with popularity and everyone was finding out wrestling’s dirty little secrets. Chris Jericho says in his first memoir “A Lion’s Tale” that being a wrestling fan in the 1980’s is different from being one in the 2000’s.

Before the internet became as popular as it is now, were dark fantasy gimmicks to blame for the inability to suspend disbelief? Many wrestling insiders thought so. In 1992, a voodoo priest named Papa Shango used to cast spells on his opponents and make them shake and vomit into unconsciousness. Instead of being feared by adults, he was given the following awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter that year: Worst Gimmick, Most Embarrassing Wrestler, and Worst Feud of the Year (vs. The Ultimate Warrior).

Then again, the WON is the same publication that gave The Undertaker the Best Gimmick award from the years 1990 to 1994 for being an undead wrestler. We all know zombies don’t exist in the real world (unless they’re extremely tired or high on drugs), but how was The Undertaker more believable and likeable than Papa Shango? This is a guy who made lightning crash all around him, who put his opponents in body bags and caskets, and teleported to the ring at will when the lights went out.

What’s my opinion of occult gimmicks in wrestling? You should all know by now just from reading my stories that I love the dark fantasy genre and therefore have no problem with seeing those kinds of characters in wrestling. Yes, wrestling is supposed to be believable, but that doesn’t mean it always is. If it works in movies like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and the upcoming Warcraft, why can’t it work in WWE? Kayfabe died a long time ago when Scott Hall, Kevin Nash, Triple H, and Shawn Michaels hugged each other in Madison Square Garden back in the 1990’s.

You’re probably going to think I’m crazy for saying this, but I actually enjoyed the Stardust gimmick. He came to the ring with silver paint on his face, a black jumpsuit, and a red cape with spikes for shoulder pads. That’s some serious dark fantasy shit right there! Yet in 2015, the readership of the WON voted Stardust as having the Worst Gimmick of that year. Cody Rhodes got so upset with portraying Stardust that he recently asked for his release from WWE and was granted it along side his wife Eden Stiles. Poor Cody. Poor, poor Cody.

And then you have some more dark fantasy creative fuel with The Wyatt Family, a backwoods cult consisting of 300 lb. giants with scraggly beards and dingy clothes. I guess The Wyatt Family was a little more realistic than other dark fantasy gimmicks, because cults do exist in this world. Maybe that’s why The Wyatt Family won Best Gimmick in 2013. But then why would Bray Wyatt, the leader of the group, get nominated for a Worst Gimmick award in 2014? Wasn’t he doing the same things he was doing a year earlier?

I don’t see why wrestling fans get their knickers in a twist over dark fantasy gimmicks in the WWE or any other organization. It didn’t bother them when they were playing Diablo II on their computers. It didn’t bother them when they were gathering around the table playing D&D and eating Doritos. It won’t bother anybody who eventually goes to see the new Warcraft movie, which I’m dying to see. So why should it be bothersome in WWE? We know it’s fiction, so why not go the full nine?

Combining dark fantasy elements with professional wrestling is basically what I’ve done when I wrote and published “Occupy Wrestling”. Mitch McLeod, a professional wrestler with the body of Mike Haggar and the hair of Goku, kicks the asses of and gets his ass kicked by skeletons, ogres, orcs, demons, devils, and even a group of hooded mask-wearers called The Snakes of Jehovah. I actually had a beta reader named Layla who told me that combining urban fantasy with pro-wrestling was a bad idea. I had two chick lit-reading women give my book a two-star rating. Thank god I have people like Marie Krepps (Babe-a-Licious Mondo), Edward Davies (The Delightful Brit), and Andy Peloquin (The Kick-Ass Canadian) who believe in me and my ideas.

In fact, now that I’m almost finished editing the shit out of Occupy Wrestling with Marie, she’s given me some valuable advice that I’ll definitely take to heart. Once it’s been republished, I should market it to people who are both wrestling and fantasy fans, who will most likely be males ages 20-29. I may have to search far and wide for these people, but they’re worth finding, because they’ll love what I’ve got. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Marie. It’s a debt I can never repay in my lifetime.

So what about it, Dave Meltzer (the Editor at Large for the Wrestling Observer Newsletter)? What awards will you give Mitch McLeod? Wrestler of the year? Feud of the year (vs. Keegan Day)? Dare I say, Most Overrated or Worst Gimmick? I sincerely hope the newest version of Occupy Wrestling makes it in the mailboxes of some of these wrestling insiders. They may be harder to get a hold of than the 20 to 29-year-old males, but it would satisfy my curiosity at least. It would be worth it to hear Jim Cornette scream in his Kentucky drawl. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new contest is already here and I’m damn well ready for it. Speaking of dark fantasy, I have yet another short story ready with the suffix “mancer” in the title. The theme this week is “Dark Truth” and my story will be called “The Cryomancer” (a wizard who controls ice). It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Julian Kane, Human Screenwriter

Olivia Snow, Elf Cryomancer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: After being exhausted by his relentless work schedule, Julian’s fried brain doesn’t now what the dark truth is anymore.

SYNOPSIS: Julian’s latest movie script features Olivia as a fictional character as she does battle with an army of orcs. In the middle of writing, Olivia starts talking to Julian as if she was a real person. The exhausted screenwriter figures that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but when it starts hailing outside and his apartment becomes unexplainably cold, he begins to think that maybe Olivia’s requests for a lighter battle schedule seem reasonable.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Continuing with the theme of dark fantasy, my next drawing will be of someone who in no way can cast a decent spell. His weapon of choice is a modified blunderbuss and his diet of choice is meat from the carcasses of the game animals he kills. He is a chubby motherfucker named Joseph Stone and he comes straight from the short story “Unleash the Animal”. Stinger Crushwar may have been the most obnoxious character in that story, but never forget who the real villain is. That’s right, Joseph, I’m looking at you, fat boy!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“All my life they let me know how far I would not go. But inside the beast still grows, waiting, chewing through the ropes. Who are you to change this world? Silly boy! No one needs to hear your words. Let it go. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come digest me? Take away everything I am. Bring it to an end. Carnivore! Carnivore! Won’t you come and change me? Take away everything I am. Everything I am.”

-Starset singing “Carnivore”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

It’s just a coincidence that the next Dark Fantasy Warrior is a guy who eats too much meat and the lyrics of the day come from a song called “Carnivore”. Then again, I just ate a whole Meat Lover’s Pizza from Pizza Hut earlier today, so maybe it’s not much of a coincidence anymore.

General Update: Creative Fuel

***GENERAL UPDATE: CREATIVE FUEL***

I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. Creative fuel can come from the strangest places and it can result in some of the strangest pieces of art imaginable. I kept wondering if the Hulk Hogan dream I had in my last journal would amount to anything and it just might. And then things just rolled on from there. Here’s a general update on all of the short story synopses I’ve created, dreams I’ve had, and movies I’ve seen. If you feel inspired by any of this to do something of your own, then that means my journal was a success. If not, well, at least now I have something to talk about. Starting with the synopsis I plan on using for this week’s WSS contest (Breaking the Habit)….

***THE UNDERTAKER***

CHARACTERS:

Zell Jardine, The Undertaker

Heath Danielson, Depressed Drunk

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Hopefully, this encounter with Zell will break Heath’s drinking habit.

CREATIVE FUEL: The Undertaker from the WWE, a legendary wrestler who will compete at Wrestlemania 32 against Shane McMahon in a Hell in a Cell match. If Shane wins, he will gain control of the WWE and The Undertaker will be out of a job.

SYNOPSIS: After his father’s bakery goes out of business, Heath nurses his sadness at a bar and gets so drunk that the bartender orders him to leave. Not knowing where he is now, he stops to relieve himself in a random spot in the street. When his vision comes back into focus, Heath realizes he just urinated on Zell Jardine’s grave. Zell’s hand rises from below and grabs the drunk by his throat. “The Undertaker” as he’s called is hell bent on murdering Heath in cold blood. Mr. Danielson tries to explain his situation and say he’s sorry, but he’s too drunk to put words together.

***HARDCORE HOGAN***

CHARACTERS:

Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling

Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego

Kasabian, Alien Lord

Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

CREATIVE FUEL: Hulk Hogan dream.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.

***JUST AS BAD***

CHARACTERS:

Leon Archer, Vengeful Brother

Bryan Hicks, Former Bully

CREATIVE FUEL: Episode of Family Guy where Peter confronts an ex-bully of his who is now physically disabled.

SYNOPSIS: Leon finds the permanent address of Bryan Hicks, a former high school jock who bullied Leon’s brother to the point of suicide. Years of tension built up inside Mr. Archer, but when he sees Bryan bedridden in his apartment due to cancer, he’s faced with a moral dilemma. Will he beat the crap out of a weakened former bully or will that make him just as bad as Mr. Hicks used to be? Bryan tries to convince Leon that he’s a changed man who would go back in time and make different decisions if that was possible. Five years of lonely anger dictates otherwise for Leon.

***GORGON DEATH BITCH***

CHARACTERS:

Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend

Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend

CREATIVE FUEL: The Gorgon Video logo at the beginning of the “Faces of Death” movies.

SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.

***KING BLIZZARD***

CHARACTERS:

King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant

Jason Clark, Farmer

CREATIVE FUEL: Giant gold and bronze action figure I used to have of Sabertooth from “X-Men”. I called it King Blizzard for the sake of the play dates I used to have with my childhood friend Lance.

SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always be someone who surrendered his food without incident. That changes on the day he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.

***ZERO URREA DREAM***

As many of you already know, I have a Deviant Art friend named Zero Urrea and we’ve been friends since 2009. Last night, I had a weird dream about him where I went to his house and his TV was showing an anime about a bisexual monster farmer. Zero came home dressed in camouflage pants and carrying an AK-47 over his shoulders. He also miraculously had brown skin (he’s white in real life). The two of us went on a road trip together to drive me back to Port Orchard. On our way there, we saw that all of the amusements parks in the world were melting into liquid. In an effort to enjoy one of them while we could, we swam in the current the melted water was making. Then I woke up from that dream when my brother James wanted to take me to the YMCA and I didn’t want to go.

***STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS***

I saw that movie earlier tonight with my mom and Reina. While I won’t write a review for it since it would contain spoilers, I will say that it’s one of the rare mediums that deserve an Extra Credit (five-star) score. It was fucking awesome to say the least. When we were driving home from the cinema, Reina said that I reminded her of Chewbacca from the film. I’m not that hairy and I can’t shoot a crossbow worth a damn, but I do growl and groan a lot, so the comparison is apt.

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

On WWE television, Jerry Lawler always has nicknames for his fellow announcers based on their initials. He calls Byron Saxton BS (bullshit) and Mauro Ranallo MR (mentally retarded). If Tom Philips was part of the team, he would be called TP (toilet paper). If Daniel Bryan ever decided to become an announcer, he would be called DB (douche bag). Such unfortunate initials to have when calling the Smackdown action with The King.

Hulk Hogan Dream

***HULK HOGAN DREAM***

I’ve always known that dreams could be an awesome source of creative fuel. I never expected one of them to be a short story idea for the WSS. Now that I’m wide awake and I’ve processed everything that happened in the dream, I’m not sure if it’ll even become a future story. Maybe I could be convinced into writing it by whoever’s reading this blog entry. Ready or not, here it comes!

The main character in the story was played by me, though I don’t remember the person’s name. All I know is that I was captured by an alien race with squid-like faces and taken to their flying saucer’s prison cells. They should have patted me down for weaponry before locking me up, because I had the one weapon that would put me in beast mode forever: Hulk Hogan’s Hall of Fame ring. I slipped it on my finger and transformed into the former WWE wrestler, the healthy 1980’s version. I ripped the bars off the cell and started beating the crap out of squid-faced aliens with big boots, clotheslines, suplexes, body slams, and leg drops (did I get all of his five moves of doom?). And then I got to the helm of the ship where the master alien was waiting for me. Soon I was joined by The Ultimate Warrior and the two of us beat the crap out of the alien leader together. I woke up thinking this would make a good short story idea, but now I’m not sure.

And now that I think about it, if I did write this story, it would be considered fan fiction since WWE owns the name Hulk Hogan. Although, with the racism scandal in 2015, they don’t want anything to do with him anymore and pretty much scrubbed him from their history. So the question now becomes, if I write this story and it’s considered fan fiction, can I be sued for publishing it and if so, by who: Hulk Hogan himself or the WWE? At this point, I’m better off using an entirely different character instead of Hogan, but it wouldn’t have the same effect or meaning. Copyright laws are fickle bitches.

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Team PCB calling themselves the most dominant divas in WWE is like Donald Trump saying his favorite holiday is Cinqo De Mayo.”

-Nikki Bella-

WWE Tough Enough

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

From now on, every piece of writing I do, whether it’s a short story, novel chapter, review, or blog entry, will be posted on ALL of my social media accounts, not just certain ones. A year ago, I made the decision to post my Garrison’s Library entries on Deviant Art. Why isn’t all of my writing on all of my accounts? That’s a lot of untapped potential that’s going to waste. This journal entry would normally be meant for Deviant Art, but why stop there? Enjoy!

　

***WWE TOUGH ENOUGH***

Every once and a while, my step-dad Dale will call upstairs to my room and tell me that WWE Tough Enough is on TV. Yes, it’s a WWE production and as everyone here knows, I can’t shut up about wrestling. But if there’s one show I try to avoid every time it comes on, it’s Tough Enough. If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality TV competition where a bunch of rookies learn how to wrestle. Here’s why it’s called Tough Enough: because the trainers and judges have a boot camp mentality where screaming and insulting the competitors will eventually motivate them to do the right things in the ring.

It may be that there’s some truth in harsh motivation being good for an athlete or a combatant. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching it. In fact, watching the upper echelon scream their heads off at those below makes me feel uncomfortable. It reminds me of other relationships in life where there’s a ridiculous imbalance of power: bank robbers and hostages, rapists and women, drunken step-dads and small children, conformist teachers and imaginative students, etc.

Just one time during a boot camp scenario like this would I like to see some insubordination from the bottom tier. Maybe one of the competitors will get fed up with the trainers’ shit and throw a metal dumbbell at one of them. Maybe Paige (one of the judges) will tell someone to get off the stage and that someone will tell her to remove the A and E from her name. Maybe Daniel Bryan (another judge) will tell someone they have no charisma and that person will pull a pair of clippers out of his gym bag and shave Daniel’s beard off.

I’m sure insubordination has happened before on an episode of Tough Enough, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s a rare occurrence. Either the competitors are too scared of losing their spots or they have too much respect for authority. As long as there’s an overwhelming imbalance of power, it will keep me from watching Tough Enough or any other show with screaming authority figures. That being said, Full Metal Jacket makes me want to vomit.

You’ve gotten this far in my journal and have also read the entirety of Occupy Wrestling, my latest self-published novel. You probably feel like calling me out on a hypocrisy since at the end of Occupy Wrestling, Debra flies to Japan to train in a wrestling dojo where there’s absolutely no shortage of harsh motivation. The only reason I put that in the story is because I needed a believable reason for her to suddenly be good at fighting. I’ll tell you right now that just because it happens in my stories, I in no way endorse nor condone drill sergeant motivation. Maybe that’s because I myself would crack easily under pressure in such a situation because of my schizophrenia and autism. Harsh motivation may work for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.

In short, if you’ve heard me talk about WWE and were wondering if I watch Tough Enough every week, the answer is no. It makes me feel vicariously bad for the competitors, especially since it’s unscripted. I also won’t be watching Summer Slam this year for two reasons. One, I’ve cancelled my subscription to the WWE Network due to it crapping out every time I want to watch a pay-per-view. And two, on that same day, I’m going to see Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Lamb of God, and a bunch of other metal bands perform at the White River Amphitheater. If the WWE wants me to watch their major shows, then I guess I’ll order a PPV through my cable provider and pay $50 for it. Granted, John Layfield will call me an idiot for doing so, but that just magnifies his status as an asshole commentator.

We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: Who is John Layfield’s favorite rapper?
A: Maggle-More.

WWE Wrestlemania 31: Sting vs. Triple H

MATCH: Sting vs. Triple H in a No Disqualification match
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 31
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


In the 1990’s, the ratings war between WWE and WCW was one that would determine which company would remain in business. Both companies had high-rising superstars. Both companies had millions of dollars. Both companies pushed the envelope with their edgy television shows. In the beginning of this competitive war, WCW introduced the world to The New World Order, a faction of rebels consisting of mega-stars like Scott Hall (formerly Razor Ramon), Kevin Nash (formerly Diesel), Hulk Hogan, and many other wrestlers with a legendary legacy.

But in the end, it was the youth and freshness of Mick Foley, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, and Degeneration X that slew the beast known as WCW. The star power-fueled company known as WCW closed its doors permanently in 2001 with many of their wrestlers serving as jobbers for the WWE during the “invasion” storyline.

Fast forward to Survivor Series in 2014, which was 13 years after the WCW legacy was buried forever. The Authority (Triple H and Stephanie McMahon) were throwing their weight around and making life for young up-and-comers miserable. Daniel Bryan had been put on the injured reserve list, Dolph Ziggler had many handicapped matches to deal with, John Cena was losing his opportunities at star power, and oh yeah, the Big Show cried like a baby.

Who decides to show up at Survivor Series of that year? Sting, the face-painted, trench coat-wearing, baseball bat-wielding vigilante who said more with just one stare than most wrestlers could in a ten minute interview. He continued to cost The Authority matches and play mind games with Triple H. Sting was at one point WCW’s lone soldier against the powers of the New World Order. Over a decade later, he wants revenge against Triple H for putting that company out of business and leaving Sting in an indefinite stasis (actually, he wrestled for TNA, which is basically WCW for the 2000’s, but who’s keeping track?).

Several months after Sting’s WWE debut, a match between him and Triple H is made for 2015’s biggest pay-per-view event, Wrestlemania 31. It was billed as a clash between icons of their respective companies, Sting representing WCW and Triple H representing WWE. These two wrestlers were past the prime of their careers, yet they were determined to wrestle with the spirit of youth. For Sting, this wasn’t just about WCW closing its doors in 2001; this was about knocking a tyrant like Triple H off of his throne.

Fast forward to the actual match between these two. Wrestlemania events are known for super-creative entrances to the ring. This match was no different when Sting came to the ring with face-painted Japanese warriors were playing Taiko drums to introduce him. Triple H chose something slightly more epic for his entrance. He dressed like The Terminator and carried metal skulls to the ring with him. Sting promised the samurai warrior spirit and Triple H promised futuristic destruction that spared nobody. Which one would prevail?

Sting and Triple H had a lot of miles on their bodies, but with those miles comes wisdom and experience. The opening parts of the match were wrestled with basic maneuvers such as clotheslines, hip tosses, knee drops, back body drops, suplexes, and the occasional corner splash. Yes, these are old school moves, but Triple H and Sting did them with such perfection that they were actually entertaining to watch. Even more entertaining was when Sting had Triple H dead to rights in the Scorpion Death Lock.

And then we hear the Chris Warren band screaming, “Break it down!”, which could mean only one thing: the arrival of Degeneration X members Road Dog, Billy Gunn, and X-Pac, all three of which were instrumental in bringing WCW to its knees. If they wanted to get involved in the match, they could since it was announced as No Disqualification. The numbers game was sure to catch Sting off guard.

And then we hear Frank Shelley’s guitar twanging and twisting, which meant the arrival of New World Order members Hulk Hogan, Scott Hall, and Kevin Nash, all three of which had achieved WWE Hall of Fame inductions. Outside of the ring, the New World Order and Degeneration X members beat the hell out of each other. They threw each other against barricades, ring posts, the punched and kicked like there was no tomorrow, and there was even a time when Road Dog back body dropped Scott Hall on the concrete floor…and Scott Hall, as elderly as he was, got back up!

And then the hardware started to come out, Sting with his baseball bat and Triple H with his sledgehammer. While the NWO and DX were fighting outside the ring, the two actual match competitors fought like medieval warriors with their hardcore weapons. Triple H was determined to be the badass barbarian he always was with his hammer, but with one strike from Sting’s bat, the hammer broke in two and Triple H was cornered.

And then, the final member of DX, Shawn Michaels, another Hall of Famer, came out of nowhere and super-kicked Sting into unconsciousness. It was another blow from Triple H’s now broken hammer that finally did in the vigilante known as Sting. A count to three later and Triple H was declared the winner of this war between WWE and WCW. After all was said and done, the members of the New World Order, Degeneration X, Triple H, and Sting all got together and showed each other respect with hand shakes and hugs.

Normally when old wrestlers get in the ring, they’re huffing and puffing as they struggle with their equilibrium, which is why a lot of WCW were boring to watch. But when the remnants of DX and the NWO got in their time machines and threw themselves into the Wrestlemania 31 vortex, it had the crowd chanting, “This is awesome!” over and over again. I would have chanted the same thing if I was in San Francisco that day. Hell, that whole audience was having nerd-gasms all night long after this match. There wasn’t one bad match on that whole pay-per-view. In fact, Wrestlemania 31 might get the nod for Best Major Show of 2015 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and it would be a well deserved honor.

Nerd-gasms and childhood memories aside, the conclusion of this match does beg the question of what Sting’s role within WWE will be now that he failed to dethrone Triple H. Is his momentum completely destroyed? Will he strictly have a backstage role? Will he show up at another major show and shift the balance of power again? I wouldn’t mind seeing Sting again someday. He has many decades of wear and tear on his body, yet he wrestles like a 21-year-old. In other words, the man forgot to age. Give him another chance, damn it!