How Are Those Egg Prices Working Out for You, MAGA?

 

Tim Walz: Governator of Minnesota

 

Katie Miller: Provider of Workers and Soldiers for Our Capitalist Society

 

Blanka from Street Fighter II vs. Laura Ingraham from Fox News: A Masterclass in Malicious Compliance

 

Ted Cruz Will Lose

 

Civil Discourse Is an Oxymoron

VERSE 1

It’s not civil discourse when you say, “Get a job!”

And then you play the victim of the online mob

You started jacking your jaw about made up laws

That justify the killing of random dudes chilling

We have the right to exist, it’s what I’ll always insist

I’ll die on this hill when the coppers shoot to kill

Master debating is just political theater

There is no “both sides” to a husband beating her

 

CHORUS

Civil discourse is an oxymoron

When our eyes are fiery like Sauron

When our veins bulge and faces turn red

Lies are force-fed until too many are dead

 

VERSE 2

Military intelligence and jumbo shrimp

Got nothing on a fake badass being a pimp

Except when his hoes are in tactical clothes

They sold their souls for the king they chose

Moderate terrorism and AI art

Across-the-aisle marriages with no broken hearts

Human rights violators who make the best of friends

But when they get dumped, they call it Gen Z trends

 

CHORUS

Civil discourse is an oxymoron

When our eyes are fiery like Sauron

When our veins bulge and faces turn red

Lies are force-fed until too many are dead

 

BRIDGE

If you want to debate my right to live

You have to take it about as well as you give

Otherwise, you’re an Alpha in name only

Got yourself to blame for being empty and lonely

 

EXTENDED CHORUS

Civil discourse is an oxymoron

When our eyes are fiery like Sauron

When our veins bulge and faces turn red

Lies are force-fed until too many are dead

Remember that when you go to bed

And the joy-bringers rent space in your head

And your brain melted from pumping gasoline with lead

Lies and slander are always everything you said

It was never a debate, it was an hour of hate

You forgot your Klan hood and your crucifix wood

You forgot your gas can and cigarette lighter

No more burning crosses, no need for firefighters

Tom Man Ho, I mean, Tom Homan

 

I'll get his name right eventually, maybe when he starts getting the names right of the people he deports. I hear his Spanish sucks.

Dean Cain a.k.a. Ironic Superman

 

Edwin Starr vs. The Gimp, I mean, Your Average ICE Agent

 

Hornswoggle

 

Pulling on the Masks

INTRO DIALOGUE

Uno, dos, tres, cuatro

Can you hear me, Juan?

Okay, these people think they’re the Master Race?

 

VERSE 1

Pulling on the masks, not wiping their asses

Wiping is gay, they’re supposed to be fascists

Run into a school zone, terrorize the masses

Pinhead, pinhead, racial slur passes

Pinhead, pinhead, racial slur passes

Appropriating cultures like a motherfucking vulture

Pinhead, pinhead, getting really pissed

Pinhead, pinhead, MAGA terrorists

 

VERSE 2

Logging onto Tinder to get themselves some

Chickies in the streets, grab their fucking bums

When they want her number, she will give them none

Pinhead, pinhead, chivalry is done

Pinhead, pinhead, chivalry is done

Scaring off the women in a patriarchal system

Pinhead, pinhead, sucking on her face

Pinhead, pinhead, getting sprayed with mace

 

VERSE 3

When they’re at a protest, at first they pull a gun

But when they see some blue hair, then they start to run

When they see their pronouns, it makes them think twice

Pinhead, pinhead, secretly enticed

Pinhead, pinhead, secretly enticed

Consuming trans porn ‘til the bright and early morn

Pinhead, pinhead, getting really pissed

Pinhead, pinhead, at the word “cis”

 

VERSE 4

I couldn’t speak Spanish to save my own life

But I know a few phrases, so I can get by

On your knees, pendejo, that’s a good puto

Pinhead, pinhead, besame kulo

Pinhead, pinhead, hired by the law

It was January 6^th when ICE gave them a job

Pinhead, pinhead, covering their face

Pinhead, pinhead, for the Master Race!

Vanilla ICE-Holes

Is that “ICE” on your vest? It should say “snowflake”

Surrender and comply? No way, Jose

Don’t worry about us pulling your mask off

Instead we’ll pull your pants off, force you to jack off

To Orange Hitler, on your knees, bootlicker

My trigger finger’s quick, so you better be quicker

Don’t half-ass the fash, go the whole nine yards

You do it long enough, you can play your race card

Forget the mask, we know you’re Vanilla ICE-Holes

You’re doing Pulp Fiction and the gimp is your role

Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp!

Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!

Slap you like a pimp for being a right-wing simp

Kick you in the dick ‘til it’s permanently limp

The age of drum circles is a thing of the past

Unless we play the drums on your stupid ball caps

With your head inside, now you can go and hide

Behind your daddy’s legs like a doggy who begs

Schoolyard bullies have more balls than you

Look in the mirror, it’s no one’s fault but you

You couldn’t cut it as the next John Rambo

Gassed out in five seconds while learning Sambo

If Sambo was easy, it’d be called White America

Chilling on your porch calling everybody terrorists

Shotgun in your hand, but you sawed it in half

You shoot prematurely, make your girlfriend laugh

Just kidding! You couldn’t be a Prom King either

You got no personality, you’re the new rag and ether

Putting us to sleep with your nothingburger status

So you pretend to be a badass ‘cause no girl would make passes

Without a few shots of whiskey in little glasses

Drop the Xanax in the drink, make her slip off to a dream

That’s your whole life in an itty-bitty nutshell

Your whole villain arc for why you pump the gun shells

Into innocent civilians, you do it by the millions

Call it “welfare cuts”, give your masters more trillions

You live by the sword, you die by the sword

‘Cause you got nowhere else to go except the psych ward

When Destruction Means Nothing

VERSE 1

You won a debate while sipping caramel coffee

Chugged the whole thing without even coughing

You could have won with duct tape on your mouth

Whether you were in Seattle or in the Deep South

Everyone says you destroyed your opponent

But you’ve forgotten one little minor component

Nobody changed their minds after it was all over

Couldn’t be more pissed off if traffic was slower

CHORUS

Destruction means nothing at all

Still breathing, they didn’t fall

When destruction means nothing

The world just keeps on sucking

VERSE 2

You say the best solution is to meet in the middle

Every time some murderer receives an acquittal

Every time a loved one drops dead from Corona

Every time that ICE deports a Jose or a Paloma

The middle of what? A bloody battleground?

An internet brouhaha with dug up Tweets found?

Can’t shake someone’s hand if they’re holding a gun

Especially if they must insist that their side really won

CHORUS

Destruction means nothing at all

Still breathing, they didn’t fall

When destruction means nothing

The world just keeps on sucking

BRIDGE

People only change if they want to do it

At some point you have to say, “Screw it!”

Some people are just stuck in their ways

Especially if their rhetoric heftily pays

VERSE 3

Murdered by words? They’re still sucking oxygen

It could be because they’re seeing a psychologist

Don’t be so open-minded that your brain falls out

Don’t choke on your tongue when it’s time to shout

CHORUS

Destruction means nothing at all

Still breathing, they didn’t fall

When destruction means nothing

The world just keeps on sucking

FINAL LINE

Destruction doesn’t mean jack shit, little man

Spice

VERSE 1

Yelling with no reason for yelling

Not enough showing, too much telling

Salty for the sake of being salty

Argument falls apart, too faulty

You have to know when to surrender

When to stop playing the role of defender

Not every hill is worth dying on

Not every shoulder is worth crying on

CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

VERSE 2

Say you’re sorry, it’s all they need

The best advice for you to heed

Too much spice ignites the fire

Too much fighting makes you tire

It’s not a sign of infinite weakness

To know when you’ve been defeated

Ratings aren’t worth all the screaming

Nightmare fuel is what you’re dreaming

CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

BRIDGE

Jalapeno pizza and habanera chicken wings

These are a few of our favorite things

Spicy anger mixed with salty prose

Don’t let these be your lowest lows

VERSE 3

It’s always okay to ask for forgiveness

It’s a beautiful thing to behold and witness

Vulnerability makes heroes of us all

Unlike the endless hunger to assault

EXTENDED CHORUS

Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!

Really no difference between fire and ice

Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!

Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice

Spice! Spice! Even more of it will suffice!

Addicted to the drama like it’s a real vice

Spice! Spice! It’ll all come with a price!

Rolling snake eyes when you throw the dice

Spice! Spice!

Spice! Spice!

Dark Fantasy Rock Goddess

Autumn Smith peeked through the backstage curtain of the Dead Pegasus Orc Bar and felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach. She was used to wild and raucous crowds, but never before had she played her elven bard music in front of savage creatures such as orcs. Their drunken screams and violent shoves were reminiscent of barbarians going to war against the gods. A few of them even threw the bar’s furniture at each other. The bouncers’ hands were tied with one group of wild orcs, so much so that many of these barbaric brawls went unnoticed.

The elf guitarist swallowed a massive wad of saliva in nervousness, but that only served to further irritate her anxious and chilled stomach. And then a dark-skinned hand laid lovingly on her shoulder and put her somewhat at ease. That hand belonged to the blond Mohawk-having, red robe-wearing sorcerer known simply as Bloodshark. He said in his best smooth jazz voice, “Don’t you worry about a thing, baby girl. I’m the best mercenary money can buy. If one of these motherfuckers puts their hands on you, I’ll shove thunderbolts up their asses and fireballs down their throats. You’ve got this, sugar pie.”

Autumn breathed deeply to settle her nerves and said to Bloodshark, “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this for me. I’ve never played in front of orcs before.”

Bloodshark smiled and shook his head before saying, “Listen, honey bear, orcs are no different from any other wild and crazy crowd: they all turn to ashes after getting zapped with my magic lightning. Ashes look the same no matter what race, creed, or color they originally were. Now you go onstage and have the time of your life, cuddle muffin. You’re a dark fantasy rock goddess. You don’t sweat the small stuff.”

The elven bard smiled sweetly and said, “You’re right, Bloodshark. You’re absolutely right. I’m going to show these drunken assholes what a real rock goddess looks like. I’m supposed to be getting a huge payment for this concert, so if you want a raise, you can have it.”

“It’s show time, sweetheart,” said Bloodshark after squeezing Autumn Smith’s shoulders. “Give these suckers all you’ve got!”

The words of encouragement put an even bigger smile on the silver cloak-wearing bard’s face as she grabbed her acoustic guitar and nodded at her mercenary before taking center stage. The orcs stopped fighting amongst themselves and cheered like a bunch of battle hungry warriors. Despite being a race of sloppy eaters and uncouth manners, even they could appreciate the heavenly beauty of their rock and roll princess.

She had soft and creamy green skin, long and silky dark hair, hypnotizing purple eyes, gorgeous red lips, a sparkling gray halter top that revealed just the right amount of cleavage, fetishized high heeled boots, and tight black leather pants that accentuated her best lower body features. Autumn’s appearance alone was a main event show on its own. But when she started strumming her golden guitar, every note and every chord put the orcs in a drooling trance.

Her singing voice made every audience believe she was an angel from the most beautiful of heavens. Her erection-worthy lyrics spoke of the pleasures of love making from her partner’s perfect muscular body to the wonderful thrill of being pushed into. She even made a few orgasmic moans to simulate the gentle sex she was singing about.

The crowd of drunken orcs, who had been brawling just minutes before, were now retarded with love for this sexy elf playing music for them. They drooled, their eyes were halfway closed, they were hunched over, and many of them purposefully sat down at their tables to avoid…embarrassment.

And then one of the audience members made the mistake of reaching up on stage and grabbing Autumn by her ankle. “Ouch! Let go! You’re hurting me!” she yelled as the orc held on with a nearly crushing grip. The other orcs egged him on and showed their wildness once more with berserker screams. And then that sexually harassing orc drew back a stump when Bloodshark appeared from behind the curtain and zapped his hand.

A fountain of black orcish blood burst in the air and stained Autumn’s lovely clothing, to which she gasped in horror. The orcs laughed at their creepy brethren while Bloodshark warned them, “Anybody else want to try that shit? Go ahead! Come on! I don’t get paid by the hour, motherfuckers!”

One of the orcs pulled out a battleaxe and screamed furiously before charging at Bloodshark with a full head of steam. The mercenary sorcerer extended his fingertips and shot a cannonball-like fire volley into the warrior’s chest, sending the orc flying all the way to the back of the bar and crashing through the wall.

Autumn grabbed her bodyguard by the arm and shouted, “I’m not paying you to kill them! I just wanted some security, damn it!”

Bloodshark shoved his boss to the ground, pointed his finger at her, and said, “Let me do my job and then we’ll talk about semantics!”

While the elf bard crab-walked and cowered in the corner of the stage, more orcs descended upon Bloodshark with swords, axes, and flails drawn. That much heavy screaming pierced Autumn’s eardrums and made her feel like she was about to be ripped to shreds by this horny crowd.

And then Bloodshark threw his hands in a rapid fire machinegun motion as he tossed glacial spikes left and right into the orcs’ chests. While most of them were dropping to the ground bleeding like volcanoes, other orcs grabbed onto his arms and legs ready to tear him limb from limb. The sorcerer’s body became a conduit of electricity, sending lightning through his attacker’s bodies and turning them all to a pile of bloody ashes. And then the sorcerer threw fireballs at an assault rifle pace. And then more lightning bolts. And then more glacial spikes. Within a matter of lengthy seconds, the crowd full of horny orcs was reduced to shreds of skin, pieces of bones, and oceans of blood. Even the bouncers and bartenders weren’t spared from this deathly onslaught.

Bloodshark hunched over and clutched his knees while breathing heavily and admiring his handiwork. Autumn stopped flinching and surveyed the battlefield around her. Her bottom lip quivered, her body convulsed, and her eyes widened with horror as she pulled herself to her staggering feet. “Oh my god…what have you done? This isn’t security detail. This is murder!” Autumn banged on Bloodshark’s chest with her puny hands and yelled, “You’re a murderer! You’re a goddamn murderer!”

The sorcerer restrained the elf with his massive arms and stole a sloppy tongue kiss from her while leaning her backwards. It was long and passionate, but Autumn wasn’t buying the passion as she pushed away and crab-walked backwards again in disgust. She spit and coughed until she was certain the rotten flavor was out of her mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“No, Autumn. I think the real question is…what the hell is wrong with YOU?! How could you treat your number one fan with such disdain? Is that what you rock goddesses are really good for?” protested Bloodshark.

The elf’s breathing slowed and her mouth quivered even harder as she realized the trap she had fallen for. “No…no…this can’t be happening. You’re not a mercenary. You’re a stalker! You’re a goddamned stalker! How can you do this to me, you sick pervert?!”

“How can I do what to you? Write you the sweetest letters a fan could ever write? Send chocolates to your house that tasted like pure heaven? Send roses to your studio that smell like fresh warm Eden? I spent more of my own mercenary money on you than I did for myself. And the way you repay me for my love and affection is by ignoring me and acting disgusted with me?! I should be the one disgusted with you! But I’m not, Miss Smith. I’m in love!” said Bloodshark with the wildest eyes and the creepiest grin.

Autumn shook her head and said, “You don’t know a goddamn thing about love. You’re just a pervert. You’re the worst kind of scum a singer like me could ever meet. You’re not the first one to fall in love with me. I’ve dealt with sickos like you many times in my career. You think you’re special just because you’ve eliminated all of your orcish competition with a little bit of magic? You’re pathetic!”

Bloodshark’s eyes glowed with light blue neon as he said, “It’s not just a little bit of magic, Miss Smith. It’s what I use on a day to day basis when I fight for the affections of my sweetest crushes. You rock and roll women are all the same to me. Then again, it’s just like I said earlier…all ashes look the same! If you won’t say yes to me…then I’ll say goodbye to you!”

Autumn Smith shouted, “No! Please!” as the perverted sorcerer extended his fingertips and threw the biggest bolt of electricity his tired body could muster up. What better place to send that spear of lightning…then right through Autumn’s “cold and loveless” heart?

The Cryomancer

Olivia Snow could feel the frozen energy surging through her body. A cool breeze blew past her and little snowflakes were descending upon her. To this elf wizard dressed in black ninja gear, this form of magic was known as cryomancy. She had spent tireless years perfecting this beautiful, yet deadly art. With the eight-foot tall fat-ass obnoxious ogre standing in front of her with a bloody smile on his face, Olivia knew she had to be ready to use it at a moment’s notice.

The ogre swung its mighty club down upon Olivia, but the elf cartwheeled out of the way and allowed the heavy weapon to create a spider web crack in the stone ground. The ogre continued to swing with wild rage and unquenchable bloodlust, smashing down trees all in the name of trying to hit this swift ice maiden. She flipped and flopped away from every powerful strike.

When it was her turn to strike, she extended her fingertips and blasted the gigantic weapon with an icy mist. The weapon went from being a gigantic popsicle to diamond dust as it shattered after the ogre dropped it. The monstrous warrior flexed his muscles and roared to the sky in his loudest voice.

Olivia shook her head no at the raving beast and blasted him with a gigantic glacial spike, piercing him through his black heart. Even then the ogre was able to rip out the spike and scream in fury some more. Even though he was bleeding profusely from his chest, he yelled out, “Is that the best you’ve got, woman?! You’re a dead bitch!”

The ogre stampeded his way toward the now vulnerable cryomancer, creating impressions and craters in the ground with every thunderous step. Olivia flipped backwards onto a treetop and rained down smaller glacial spikes upon her opponent. This time he bled even more profusely and his tough guy mentality couldn’t save him from becoming a limp and lifeless corpse on the ground. Once the ogre hit the floor and his blood splattered everywhere, his body crumbled into snowflakes and the wind blew him away.

Olivia Snow sat down on the tree branch and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She was so exhausted that she could have fallen asleep in that tree. And then the familiar pounding footsteps rang out across the forest and the elf wizard opened her dreary eyes to see at least five more of these hideous ogres lusting for her death. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said to herself. She even stood up on the tree branch and yelled to the sky, “Julian, what the hell is wrong with you! Give me a goddamn break!”

In a small apartment in Hollywood, California, Julian Kane took a break from writing his epic screenplay at the computer and asked, “Did that bitch really just talk to me?” He tried to shake off the tiredness in his eyes and even slapped his own face for good measure. The harder the screenwriter tried to wake up, the more he slacked backwards and snored.

After letting out a ferocious yawn, the scraggly haired and pajama-dressed Julian dragged himself out of his seat and headed toward the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He looked blurrily at the clock on the stove and said, “No fucking way” when he realized he had been writing and editing that script from the early morning to the dark of night.

He would have gladly gone to bed if it wasn’t for the fact that this movie script was due tomorrow morning at the director’s office. Instead he made his pot of coffee like he set out to do. When he poured it in a cup and tried to drink it however, it was colder than a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. It even triggered sensitivities in his teeth. “Goddamn, man, I need to get to bed,” Julian said to himself. He absentmindedly threw the cold coffee into the sink and shattered his mug.

Mr. Kane got to his bedroom doorway and sobbed to himself when he realized he couldn’t go to bed until his movie script was finished. What broke him out of his sobbing spell was looking out the window and seeing a snowstorm outside. That’s right: a snowstorm in Hollywood, California in June. “What the fuck is going on here?” he said.

Julian trudged back to his computer to put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. He heard a familiar feminine voice ask him, “Do you really think pitting that many ogres against me will make me the strong feminine hero everybody wants to see? There’s a difference between paying your dues and being screwed over. Nobody will want to watch this movie.”

“Jesus, lady, what the fuck do you know about screenwriting? It’s an art form. Besides, if you beat all those ogres, I’m sure…” Julian’s dialogue was cut off by him chattering his teeth. “Goddamn, it’s cold in here.”

“Yes, Julian, I agree. I am after all a cryomancer. That is what your movie will eventually be called, right? How do you think it’s going to do at the box office if I somehow get a fluke victory in an fight a clearly can’t win? All the ice magic in the world isn’t going to save me from getting stepped on or pounded into the ground. Then again, what kind of a hero would I be if I could just the entire world’s population into ice cream sandwiches?”

Julian formed a confused look on his face and asked, “Wait a minute, why am I talking to my own character? You’re not even real. Besides, you don’t get to question me and my decision making. You’re a character. You do what you’re told and that’s it!”

One of the windows in his apartment shattered and snow began covering his carpeted floor. Julian Kane looked on with saucer-like eyes and a trembling jaw. “No! This isn’t real! There’s no such thing as cryomancy! It’s all bullshit! You hear that, Olivia? You’re no different from Pinocchio or the Three Little Pigs! You’re a cartoon and nothing more!”

His front door was the next thing to burst open and the snowstorm followed, turning the entire apartment into a winter wonderland. Standing in the doorway with glowing blue eyes, black ninja garb, and blue energy forming at her fingertips was none other than Olivia Snow. She pointed at the convulsing Julian and said, “You’re no screenwriter and you will not be the author to my pain!”

From her fingertips, she shot a tightly-packed snowball and pinged Julian in his stomach, causing him to double over and clutch his wound. Another snowball flew his direction and hit him in the shoulder. Another came and hit him in the leg. The final blow was smack dab in the middle of his forehead, which caused him to flip around and land flat on his back. His breathing was shallow and his vision was fading.

Olivia knelt down beside his victim and whispered in his ear, “You’re the hero of my screenplay now. If you can get through this, you can get through anything. So what are you going to do about all of this? Are you going to pay your dues or are you going to break like a little bitch?” The elf bit down hard on Julian’s earlobe and drew blood.

That was the sharp pain that awakened the screenwriter from his dream while hunched over his keyboard. Julian’s neck and back were sore from the awkward sleeping position and his eyes were blurry as he tried to read his computer screen. “Screw the director. I’m going to bed. This is bullshit.”

Julian stood up and fished around in his pajama pocket for his smart phone. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he speed dialed the number for his director. He wasn’t picking up, so the screenwriter left a zombie-like message. “Hey. It’s Julian Kane. Listen, I’m not going to be able to get you the script for The Cryomancer tomorrow. I’ve been exhausted lately trying to figure out my own plot holes and shit. Well, that and doing all of these media tours you keep booking me for. I’m going to bed for the evening. You’ll get your movie script in a couple of days, maybe even a week. If you don’t like the timetable, then quit exhausting the shit out of me. Bye!”

Mr. Kane tossed his smart phone on the couch and did his zombie walk back to his bedroom. He didn’t bother brushing his teeth or taking his medication. He just plopped on the bed and covered himself up.

He felt an icy hand on his shoulder and a gentle whisper in his ear from a familiar feminine voice. “You made the right decision, honey.”

“You’re damn right I did. Wait a minute, what?” said Julian as he flipped over to see who was in his bed. It was nobody. His mind was playing tricks on him again even when he agreed to go to sleep. He tiredly laughed it off and covered up his head. He snored and drooled like a tranquilized animal, though he kept wondering why his ear was scarring over and why there was blood on his pillow.

The snow continued to fall over the magical city of Hollywood. Magic? What kind of magic? It wouldn’t happen to be cryomancy, would it?

Medusa

VERSE 1
The eyes of Medusa turn you to stone
Chilling your skin right down to the bone
For all of your sins, it’s too late to atone
The palace gates are your brand new home

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

VERSE 2
The fangs of Medusa chew through your throat
Spilling your blood and guts in the acidic moat
The tongue of Medusa says her goodbyes
As she glares at you with those devilish eyes

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

HOOK
She’s the twenty-first century heartbreaker
She’ll lead you straight to the undertaker
Into the hands of your own damn creator
How much will it take for you to hate her?

VERSE 3
The soul of Medusa is empty and frozen
She is the one that you’ve clearly chosen
Seduced into a life of poverty and hell
You don’t have the urge to kiss and tell

EXTENDED CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race
The underworld gods are laughing
The hellhounds’ claws are slashing
Was any of this lust worth it in the end?
Be sure to give her your regards to send

Laya Murderspell

NAME: Laya Murderspell

AGE: 28

OCCUPATION: Sorceress

CANONS: Diablo II and Zeromancer

A dark fantasy novel wouldn’t be complete without a psychotic sorceress named Laya Murderspell. Any woman with “murder” in her last name has got to be trouble. After all, you wouldn’t want a woman named Laya Murderspell doing your taxes, would you? How about babysitting your children? Or taking you out for dinner and dancing at Taco Bell? I like a good burrito every now and then, but I love my life even more, which is why I won’t be romanced by Miss Murderspell anytime soon.

Laya is yet another dark fantasy character who got her start in a game of Diablo II: Lord of Destruction. As I’ve said with another sorceress whose name was Audrey Chainsaw, magic users aren’t my cup of tea when it comes to playing videogames. They’re not known for going toe-to-toe with their blades by their sides, so their fighting ability is extremely limited. They use magic attacks that require mana points. And once those mana points deplete, what then?

The other problem with Laya as a Diablo II character was her element of choice, which was fire. Burning people alive in a videogame is one of my favorite pastimes. But in this videogame, fire attacks don’t have the same nasty side effects that poison and cold elemental spells do, poison quickly depletes HP and cold magic slows movement.

What can you do with fire? Damage. That’s about it. If you’re going to do damage to somebody, would you rather it be with a barbarian with an axe (which requires no mana) or a sorceress with a fireball (which requires more mana than she’s worth).

In a 2011 dark fantasy novel I wrote called Zeromancer, Laya wasn’t bound down by videogame limits. I even dare say that she was a likeable character. She was the best friend of an Amazon warrior named Fatima Runetooth, who needed a best friend in the worst way after being sodomized by a gang of barbarians led by the main villain of that act, Rinehart Blackwolf.

Laya was a great friend who would do anything for Fatima. She would braid Fatima’s hair, share secrets with her, chat with her at 500 words per minute, and throw a fireball or a lightning bolt at anybody who tried to take advantage of her bestie. Laya Murderspell, despite having a scary last name, was great to have not only in the high school cafeteria, but also in the trenches.

I know I’ve been joking about Laya’s last name throughout this whole character analysis. And not one time did I joke about Laya sharing the same name, but different spelling with the metal bikini-wearing sex goddess from Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. If I really wanted to play the fan service angle, I could do that with Laya.

But the last name of Murderspell makes her a character to be feared instead of trusted. If I want to make her into a realistic hero, the last name has to be changed. Otherwise, she’ll be misconstrued as a villain for the rest of her existence. If she does get taken for a hero, she’ll only be good for one thing and that’s being undefeated in combat, which would in turn make her a Mary-Sue. In short, Laya Murderspell has a lot of reconstruction to undergo if she’s going to be used as a reliable hero. But since I have a shortage of female villains in my archives, I think keeping her as is would be best for business. Problem solved!

Clair Deus

NAME: Clair Deus

AGE: 24

OCCUPATION: Witch Hunter

CANON: None

Back in the years 2007 and 2008, whenever I was strapped for fantasy movie script ideas, I would come up with multiple lists of 100 original characters and randomly select from those lists to determine which ones would be in the same story. The list items would have a name, a race, and a class. That’s it. No back story, no psychology, no flaws, just the basics. The good stuff would be developed as I wrote the script. Unfortunately, Clair Deus, Human Witch Hunter, was never randomly chosen for a script, so she stayed on the list she was a part of indefinitely.

But the more I thought about the potential Clair Deus had, the more I began to develop her for no real reason inside my own head. I always envisioned her as a medieval dark fantasy version of Kate Beckinsale’s character from the Underworld saga. The few differences were, Clair had gothic makeup on her face and used crossbows and magic wands instead of guns and knives. Not much original thought put into Clair’s character, I agree.

It was the characters closest to her on the list that allowed me to develop her even further. Many of those extra characters had “mancer” in their class title. “Mancer” is a Greek suffix that signifies the person has magical powers in the prefix of his choosing. For example, a pyromancer works with fire, because pyro is a prefix for fire. A cryomancer uses ice, a hydromancer uses water, an electromancer uses lightning, and of course, we all know after playing Diablo II for half of our lives that necromancers deal in death. With so many people surrounding Clair Deus’ spot on the list with “mancer” in their job titles, you’d think she would have plenty of “witches” to choose from when she goes hunting for evil bastards.

All of these possibilities flowing through my head made me wonder why I couldn’t just cherry pick characters from these lists and do whatever the hell I goddamn want. I favor random selection for a number of reasons. One, it’s an exercise in discipline. If I force myself to conform my story to the selections I’ve made, I will have established myself as a disciplined writer who didn’t let his only form of controlled chaos get too overwhelming. Two, if I randomly select from whatever list I’m working with, I’m giving every list item an equal chance of being chosen. When everything has an equal chance and there’s no favoritism of any kind, that would be the equivalent of parents raising multiple children. I treat list items like I would treat my own children if I wanted any: with justice and fairness.

Although I use randomness every day whenever I’m working creatively (in fact, I use it to choose blog topics as well), Clair Deus will have to settle for being an unemployed character on Garrison’s Library. But if she stayed there indefinitely, it would defeat the purpose of having old characters’ biographies on my blog in the first place. I want to use Clair in a dark fantasy story someday. The question is, how big of a role will she play (if any at all) and will she have enough flaws to make her a believable character rather than a Mary-Sue badass? That’s the problem I’ve faced in the past with a lot of my dark fantasy characters: they were too perfect for their own good. Nobody likes perfection, because life is far from perfect. Although we should all strive to be better people, we will never be perfect, which is what makes real life such an interesting story. Shouldn’t Clair Deus’ story reflect that kind of creativity? And before you ask, no, Clair’s last name isn’t a recycling of Deus Shadowheart’s first name. The two characters are unrelated.

Audrey Chainsaw

Okay, so chainsaws weren’t invented in the dark ages, but it’s still pretty damn sweet to see a sorceress with the name Audrey Chainsaw coming to Deckard Cain’s rescue. The name alone is enough to send shivers down the spines of imp demons (not that they don’t already have them as evidenced by their constant evasions). If my Diablo II: Lord of Destruction sorceress was named Audrey Periwinkle, her dead enemies would come back to life just to laugh at her. She would die of low self-esteem, which sounds nastier than some of the things Diablo’s minions did to the rogue soldiers with their torture devices.

Although Audrey didn’t carry an anachronistic weapon around like a chainsaw, she was still a deadly sorceress to play with in Diablo II. She was just like any other sorceress I played with in the sense she specialized in cold magic. Just one blast from Audrey’s mystic energies would either slow down or completely immobilize her opponents (the latter provided it wasn’t a boss enemy).

Once the enemies were frozen in place, Audrey whacked them relentlessly with whatever weapon she had until they turned into puddles of water. Puddles of water can’t be resurrected in the same way a fresh corpse can, which is bad news for an imp shaman as well as Blood Raven. Then again, it’s also bad news for any necromancer that might want to be in my adventuring party since they too can raise undead minions.

In a game where fast enemies can cause a fast death, slowing them down with frost magic is essential. Unfortunately, that’s where the fun ends with Audrey Chainsaw and any other sorceress using cold magic. Audrey became so dependent on her magic that she never had the chance to beef herself up into a legitimate warrior. And what was she supposed to do against an enemy with mana burn? Or what if she used her magic so many times and drank all of her mana potions? Limited mana is the one thing about magic users that pissed me off no matter what fantasy-themed game I was playing, which is why I favored warriors since they could take a beating as well as give a relentless one.

Audrey never made it past the first act. Every time she engaged in battle with Andariel, she was killed so easily that resurrecting her became a pain in the ass after a while. While it may be too late for Audrey Chainsaw to become a legitimate threat in a videogame, it’s not too late for her as a book character.

Seeing as how her last name is Chainsaw, she’d have to have powerful cold magic right off the bat. No learning, no sharing, no growth, just straight up cold magic. But if she’s not required to learn anything, then it means she can’t be the main character of whatever book I’m writing. Main characters grow and develop while side characters may already be there and villains weaken over time. I loved playing as Audrey in Diablo II, but if she has to play second banana in order to make a story believable, then so be it. I wouldn’t even be opposed to making her the main villain. We’ll just wait and see what happens.

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: Tomorrow in school, Reina is going to learn about the Norwegian deserts and the Mexican glaciers.

SUSAN: Why would she be learning about that? Wait a minute, you’re an asshole!