Chelsea Green from WWE vs. Your Average Twitter Psycho, Who Is Not a Real Leftist, But a LARPer

 

Tim Lambesis from As I Lay Dying

 

Going Nuts

Not a spark of electricity in this whole damn house

Not enough melatonin to knock my ass out

My dreams are lysergic, my reality is no different

Going nuts in a dark room with demonic visions

My body could fry a whole carton of eggs

My throat slime could melt through my nonexistent neck

My nose is undergoing medieval torture

A mountain of tissues ruined in short order

Coughing up a storm of pandemic proportions

Dreading the days of insurance extortions

No breathing apparatus to pump my lungs

Waking up from dreams that feel like drugs

Alcoholic syrup is the only solution

To keep me away from the mental institution

The late night is over, the day starts at dawn

Still the electricity won’t come back on

I slosh along like a radioactive blob

Throat’s too sore for corn on the cob

I might as well swallow shards of glass

The next 24 hours can kiss my ass

Nothing to do but lay down and drift

Leaving my thoughts to sort and sift

Through a filter that was never there before

Demons in my head fight an endless war

With swords, rifles, bombs, and nerve gas

Turning my brain into a mass grave fast

The world wasn’t supposed to end this way

But why expect it to last forever and a day?

The power’s back on and so is the news

My fever kills, but millions are screwed

A fever passes with time and some rest

Hits different when the rich see you as a pest

If it had been measles or god forbid COVID

We’d have bigger problems than feeling hopeless

I survived insanity and snot-covered sickness

Got any more tragedies for me to witness?

Going nuts is kind of what I do the best

Don’t believe me? You fail the polygraph test

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 4

Loki the Skull’s jowls continued to flap in the icy wind as equally cold words poured from his mouth like hemlock into a glass of wine. He thanked Lucy and her crew for leading him to Ozzie’s cave. He rambled and ranted and raved about animals being too lazy to exact their own revenge against their abandoners. And then he seamlessly transitioned into a nonsensical allegory about icy bridges leading to hell. And he rambled some more until his verbiage became cacophonic word salad. The overuse of magic truly made King Harrison insane, which would explain his obsession with getting revenge for his animals.

 

Lucy would have shed sympathetic tears for the Kafkaesque descent if it wasn’t for the fact that Loki rocked her hammer back and forth like a hypnotic pocket watch. Watching this former king mentally drift away into outer space meant nothing in comparison to the deflated tennis ball that once brought Lucy joy. Her fangs didn’t have much in the way of sharpness, but they clamped down with the utmost tightness at this display of hubris. Lucy’s doggy hairs stood up and prickled against her metal armor. Her tail wagged uncomfortably fast. Her murder victim growls grew deeper with rage the longer this was allowed to go on. And then…

 

“GIVE! IT! BACK!” Lucy launched her tiny body despite protests from Callie and Ozzie. Surely, a lightning bolt or fire bomb was waiting for her at the end of the trajectory. It never came, just Loki ducking out of the way and keeping the hammer to himself. Lucy yipped and yapped as she bounced up and down in an attempt to grab her weapon. Loki always kept it out of reach, sometimes by only a tiny tap. The fact that he could have ended this anytime he wanted to and chose not to brought even more venom out of Lucy’s bitter barks.

 

After what must have been the seventh or eighth attempt to grab the hammer, Loki aimed his paw and finally launched a fire attack…but not against Lucy. A nearby record player that once made Ozzie’s eyes milky with nostalgia had instantly transformed into a pile of black dust, along with whatever piece of licorice pizza Callie attempted to play.

 

Lucy didn’t take time to register the deeper meaning of such destruction and continued to jump after her hammer, which was still hanging over her head like the tennis ball she once loved. She didn’t even pay much mind to Callie shouting, “Okay, that’s it!” and pulling out her golden dagger. Lucy didn’t care if neither of them stood a chance at beating this cackling, jabbering sorcerer. She just wanted her hammer back, the last symbol of what life was all about for her.

 

And then Callie stuck the knife where the sun never dared to shine. Not in Loki’s fuzzy butt, Lucy’s instead. She yipped in pain and jumped even higher than before, which gave her enough height to finally grab her hammer. Loki still held on and the two of them played tug-o’-war over it, all while the sorcerer shot a lightning ball into Callie’s chest and knocked her backwards, almost unconscious.

 

“That wasn’t very nice! GIVE IT BACK!” Lucy screamed, suddenly gaining more strength upon seeing her friend get zapped. It wasn’t enough strength to earn her a tug-o’-war victory as Loki pulled harder himself. The yanks from both sides disturbed their equilibrium and they nearly fell out of the cave together. Lucy would have rolled back down the mountain covered in snow if not for one small mistake on Loki’s part.

 

“Harrison!” said Ozzie in a husky old man voice. Loki’s mistake was awakening the memories in the old cat’s brain. He gazed at Loki with piercing eyes and trembling whiskers, energy forming in his paws at the risk of refrying his brain. “It ends with you!” Ozzie used whatever mana was left in his rotted brain to throw a tiny whirlwind at the tug-o-war scene. He then collapsed face first onto the cold icy ground.

 

Loki let out an arrogant, “Ha!”, as if that was the best the old man could do. But that little spark of wind gave Lucy momentum. Sure, Loki wouldn’t let go, but he didn’t have to. Lucy wasn’t pulling the hammer towards herself. She was pulling it to the side. The little gust along with Lucy’s heroic rage caused her to spin little by little, until she herself was a whirlwind of chaos. She spun Loki around and around while picking up steam, never once letting go of her weapon.

 

Lucy paid no mind to her own rotting brain, she kept spinning Loki around anyways. The sorcerer’s face grew bright green and his eyes watered. His jowls puffed up bigger and bigger and his stomach growled like the tough guy wolf he was trying to be. Spinning, spinning, and spinning until Loki’s fingers slipped further and further down the shaft of the hammer. One tiny slide later and Lucy was reunited with her precious hammer. She plopped backwards into the snow with her vision blurring in and out of focus and her tummy aching like she was about to lose her life in addition to her lunch.

 

Loki fared no better when it came to aching stomachs. His jowls continued to expand as he clutched his midsection and doubled over. He did everything in his power to keep it together. The salt water collecting in his eyes was a souvenir of his last ditch efforts. And then…”BLAAAAAAAAAAH!” Loki puked a bubbling stream of green and gray acid onto the snow.

 

Lucy couldn’t tell if the rising steam was from the vile stench or if spirits were magically floating out of the excess juices. Maybe it was both. She squinted her eyes as hard as she could to relieve them of rapidly freezing tears. She laid there trying to keep her own lunch under control, as every part of her body ached badly enough to want to vomit herself inside out. But the acidic spray never came. Her stomach calmed down long enough for her to drift off into darkness.

 

She didn’t spend too long in the black abyss. The wetness and comfort of a dog’s tongue kissed her furry flesh. If she was a kitty, she would purr at this loving sensation. She did however slowly open her red and puffy eyes to see Loki reviving her with gentle licks. Except this wasn’t the sorcerer she was fighting against this whole time. This was the original Loki, who stood on all fours and never once threw a magical spell. Instead he was just a sweet, tender dog who wanted Lucy to love him as much as he loved everybody, the way a dog should be.

 

“Loki-Pokey!” Lucy squealed before hugging him around the neck and getting a few puppy licks in herself. The labrador snuggled up beside the snow-bitten Lucy and snuggled with her for warmth. “Hey…is that?” She finally put two and two together: Loki threw up King Harrison’s ghost and was no longer possessed by the insane sorcerer. She could smell the chunks of lightning-fried flesh in the puddles of vomit. “It all makes sense now! Yay! We did it, Loki-Pokey! Ozzie and Callie are going to be so proud of us! Hey…wait a minute…”

 

She nipped up and rushed towards Ozzie’s cave, Loki trotting right behind her. Sure enough, Callie and Ozzie were right there face down on the floor, not one movement or sign of life between them. Lucy began to shiver with sadness. “No…no, no, no, no, no!” The two dogs rushed over to the cats’ prone bodies and began furiously licking them. Not even a dog’s loving tongue could revive the old coots. Lucy shook some more as she gazed to the ceiling and howled. Loki howled alongside her and the two of them became a chorus of sorrow at their fallen friends. They sacrificed their lives just so Lucy could have her stupid hammer. They gave so much of their energy to a toxic king that wouldn’t reciprocate.

 

“Ouch! My ears! Will you two stop your cotton-pickin’ yelling!” Callie blurted out. She snapped wide awake while Ozzie took his sweet time in coming around.

 

Lucy, having no sense of boundaries, hugged them both around the neck and shrieked, “You’re alive! You’re alive! Oh, I missed you two so much!” She and Loki continued to lick their feline faces. Callie folded her arms in defeat while Ozzie chuckled and petted Loki’s head. The gang was back together and Rainbow Ranch could finally heal. They could laugh, play, eat sausage, get pettings and love, all the things that animals had at the top of their wish lists. Revenge wasn’t just on the bottom, but it never even made the cut. That was until…

 

“Fools! You’ll never get rid of me that easily!” King Harrison may have been exorcised from Loki’s body, but his poisonous green ghost still hung in the air. He shouted a bunch of mindless gibberish. He summoned energy in his clawed hands. He scratched himself until black pudding oozed from within. It was then that it dawned on Lucy that she forgot her hammer outside. She, Loki, Ozzie, and Callie all snuggled against each other knowing exactly what was coming to them. They hoped their deaths would be swift and merciful. They gave all they could to this fight only for King Harrison’s ghost to hang around.

 

“I love you guys. I love you all…” mumbled Lucy as she squinted her eyes in defeat.

A Brief History of Rainbow Ranch

They didn’t have a name for this lonely island, because there was no they to begin with. Not a sign of human life. Not a shred of biodiversity. Not a liter of clean water for miles. It was a perfect place, though a little too perfect, for soulless cowards to dump their unwanted furry friends. Dogs with saggy jowls. Cats with pretty torbie colors and velvety fur. Rabbits with indiscriminate amounts of love to give in such tiny bodies. Rats with all the stigma, yet none of the villainy to justify being abandoned by the heartless. This nameless island was their new home, though it could never feel like home to anyone. If the animals didn’t eat each other in their feral states, they were forever erased from the gene pool, never to be seen, never to be loved by tender hands again. This cruelty went on for years…

Until a pair of king brothers found out what was going on and allowed the information to boil their blood. The Gaines brothers, Harrison and James, got off their sofa thrones and rolled their mobile castle away from their comfortable lands, finding their new home in this desolate strip of earth. They saw firsthand how hopeless these beautiful creatures looked, their ribs visible, their fur matted and torn, the joy in their eyes scrubbed clean from their handsome features. Under the rule of the Gaines brothers, no more would they suffer. With an army of loyal soldiers under the Kingdom’s command, every animal that could be found was rounded up and nurtured back to full health.

The carnivorous creatures were treated to plump sausages and juicy steaks, while the vegetarians were given fresh, crisp lettuce and crunchy carrots. During this mass rehabilitation process, the gardeners of the Gaines Kingdom went to work planting seeds all over the island, giving way to the tallest trees, the softest green grass, the loveliest red and purple flowers, the tastiest vegetables, and enough clean water to sustain the ecosystem. The healing wasn’t an overnight success. Some animals and plants didn’t make it. But those that did lived long and happy lives under the brothers’ care. The nameless island was no longer a death sentence for abandoned pets. It was a paradise not surprisingly renamed to Rainbow Ranch, a heaven on earth to live comfortably with the fastest tail wags and the loudest purrs.

But despite what the new name suggests, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for Harrison Gaines. While everyone seemed to move on with their lives, seeing all that suffering for the first few months took its toll on him. He was the less logical of the two brothers, giving into his rawest emotions and nightmarish insanity. It wasn’t enough that these animals got their revenge by living well. He wanted everlasting revenge on the ones who made them suffer in the first place. But with no names and no faces to place on the heartless former pet owners, the gulf between Harrison’s vengeful goals and his ability to act on them grew wider as his insanity began to take over. That is, until he finally had a plan.

While James Gaines was the fighter of the two, Harrison dabbled in magic, especially of the dark and occult variety. Nobody could possibly tell him where the abusive owners were…except the animals themselves. Behind his brother’s back, he began experimenting on the surviving animals to give them human features. And with these human features, they would learn to speak real words. But when asked about their abusers, the anthropomorphized animals didn’t share the same resentment and anger that Harrison did. They just wanted to live normal lives and use their now human features to build communities instead of tearing other ones down. James ultimately agreed with this notion. Harrison, not so much.

The insanity started to take an even harder toll on him. He’d spend his nights waking up from terrifying visions. He’d have conversations with ghosts who weren’t there. He’d lash out at anybody who disagreed with him. When James had to put his foot down and do something about his brother’s erratic behavior, Harrison fled and his anthropomorphic creations tried to track him down now that some of them had become soldiers and wizards themselves. Harrison’s escape led him to the highest snow-covered mountain in Rainbow Ranch, where he finally met his wizardly match: an elderly gray and white cat named Ozzie the Wise.

Ozzie tried to talk him down, tried to talk some sense into him, but Harrison’s erratic mind wouldn’t allow him to listen to reason. Ozzie was wise indeed, but even his problem-solving skills couldn’t crack the puzzle that was Harrison’s melting brain. The two of them faced off in a battle of magical energy. Harrison appeared to be getting the upper hand until Ozzie finally struck him down with a lightning bolt, causing him to roll down the mountainside and into a snowy grave. His body took days to find underneath all of that snow and Ozzie was cleared of all charges by the remaining king on account of self-defense. Harrison’s tragic tale had finally come to an end.

James couldn’t find it in his heart to bury his brother in an ordinary cemetery, so he expedited the corpse to the funeral home of an old friend, a skeletal necromancer named Razor Ripley. Despite the intimidating name, Ripley had a fondness for the animal kingdom and respect for the dead. Harrison’s body would be well taken care of under his watch and the watch of his non-humanoid Labrador Loki. This would leave James plenty of time to grieve for his fallen brother while his subjects tended to the operations of Rainbow Ranch.

This would seem like an apt place to end the story. The history of Rainbow Ranch had been written and the future seemed brighter than the wave of color in the island’s new name. Harrison would be sorely missed despite his odd behavior and penchant for revenge. He was a brother first and foremost whose heart was always in the right place. But for anyone who dearly missed him…he wouldn’t stay gone forever. It all began with a nice long psychic conversation between the disgraced King Harrison Gaines…and the soon to be anointed Loki the Skull. The phrase, “I’ll rest when I’m dead” can only be valid…if the subject is dead in the first place.

Unglued

VERSE 1

You’re obsessed with gender

Word salad chopped in a blender

Yearning for prehistory

When marginalization became misery

You’re making fun of us

Yet you’ve gained all the trust

Of creepy little minions

Who share the same opinions

CHORUS

Unglued is what you’ve become

Unhinged to the point of being dumb

Unscathed while others suffer

Just tell us all to be tougher

VERSE 2

You’re obsessed with race

You paint it all on your face

Call it your morning makeup

It’s a time when you have to wake up

You’re making fun of them

None coming to their defense

One by one they tie the cord

You belong in a psych ward

CHORUS

Unglued is what you’ve become

Unhinged to the point of being dumb

Unscathed while others suffer

Just tell us all to be tougher

VERSE 3

As you’re nice and cozy in your master bedroom

Will you dream of how we’ll all be dead soon?

Will you take a pay cut if the poor can eat?

Will you turn a blind eye if they’re on the streets?

If you think I sound like a broken record

Blasting out the speakers in a lifeless desert

It’s because of what I learned along the way

If I say it loud enough, it becomes clear as day

CHORUS

Unglued is what you’ve become

Unhinged to the point of being dumb

Unscathed while others suffer

Just tell us all to be tougher

Make It Stop

It seemed like the world’s cruelest April Fools joke to live every day in a place like Meat Grinder City…except April Fools wasn’t just limited to one day of the year. At least the flames around the buildings and streets weren’t as tall as they once were. At least the sausage puppets walked normally down the sidewalks instead of jiggling around like lynched corpses. 

When their cyclopean eyes popping out of their mouths gazed harshly into Joel Upton’s soul, the sensation was only mildly chilling across his already sour stomach. He pulled the hood up on his thick rain jacket and tried not to draw too much attention to himself. Then again, he was already under this unforgiving city’s microscope as someone with no permanent residence outside of a garbage dumpster here and there. The smell wouldn’t come off no matter how hard it rained.

It wasn’t the sausage puppets walking past him that set Joel Upton’s brain on fire. It wasn’t the smaller-by-comparison fires that jolted his brain like a paper clip in a light socket. It was that laugh. That deep, throaty, horny laugh from behind that caused his heart to pump intolerably fast. The only breaths Joel could muster reeked of dumpster residue and rancid ashes. He slowly turned around and his worst tormenter towered over him as though Joel was dog shit underneath somebody’s shoe.

He almost snapped his own neck in half just to gaze upwards into the heartless eyes of Chainsaw Fist, a bulky, piss-stinking ogre with a metal jaw, an apron covered in blood, a necklace pieced together with skulls and intestines, and of course, a chainsaw/drill combination that just had to constantly be on fire in order to solidify the overkill of Meat Grinder City.

“Make it stop,” Joel whimpered. “Somebody please make it stop…”

Chainsaw Fist bellowed so hard that his garbage breath almost bowled his victim over. “Nobody’s going to make it stop, you weak little piss stain! Your writing career was a joke from the start! Nobody loves you, not even your own family! Why don’t you just quit like a little bitch!” He revved his flaming chainsaw. “I will make you tap out one way or another, you slimy sack of whale shit!”

Joel didn’t even have time to react before Chainsaw Fist tackled him to the ground and drilled his weapon into his victim’s gut, releasing a tidal wave of blood and spiritual energy. The sausage puppets drank the vile fluids like dogs lapping up garden hose water. The volcano of blood just wouldn’t stop. It kept exploding and destroying everything in its path. The spirits flying out of that festering wound laughed at Joel the entire time. And then…

“You’re weird,” said a little girl holding onto her father’s hand. The father mildly reprimanded her before the two of them left a writhing and screaming Joel to his devices. And just like that, Meat Grinder City was Seattle. Ordinary, urban Seattle with rainy weather, urban sprawl, and non-sausage puppet citizens wondering what the hell was wrong with Joel.

Having snapped back to reality, Joel rolled over onto his knees and frantically searched his raincoat, pulling a broken needle out of his breast pocket. “No…no, no, no…” he whined to himself. “I need more…where is that goddamn pharmacy?” He searched his coat again, this time for money, but all he could muster up were a few pennies and some broken lug nuts. “Make it stop…just someone please make it stop…”

The rain came down so hard upon Joel’s back that he flinched in pain. And there was his answer: they weren’t rain drops. They were scorpion tails. “Not again.” Scorpion tails continued to pound and stab him before he was thrust right back into Meat Grinder City, the flames around the buildings bursting sky high while the cutest of cute kids jiggled around like the sausage puppets they really were.

A familiar beefy hand pulled back Joel’s hood and slashed his skull open, laughing like a demonic pervert yet again. Once his brain was exposed for the whole world to see, the scorpion tails morphed into little gray kobolds with blade-like fingernails and childish cackles. They laughed and hee-hawed as they jumped into Joel’s head wound and started bouncing around behind his face. The headache was so intense that he covered his eyes out of fear of them popping out. They did anyways, but not without snake tentacles holding them in their mouths.

“Give up your career, you waste of shit and piss!” Chainsaw Fist roared. “This world hates you! Hell doesn’t want you! Heaven is disgusted by you! You’re a fuck-up of the very worst kind! You deserve to die like the pile of diarrhea that you are!”

“STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE! MAKE IT STOP!” Joel screeched, holding his aching head while the snakes and kobolds partied in his brain.

“You want to quit, you little bastard! Do you want to quit! Then quit like the little bitch baby you are! Tap out!”

The kobolds, sausage puppets, snakes, and Chainsaw Fist himself formed a circle around Joel and chanted for him to quit. The flames of Meat Grinder City grew to their maximum limit and caused Joel to suffocate on the ashes. Chainsaw Fist continued to slash and murder his lone victim. The kobolds made incoherent jokes about his suffering and laughed like hyenas on crack.

“…I quit…”

“I’m sorry, what was that? What did you say, you little cum guzzler?!”

“I QUIT! I QUIT, I QUIT, I QUIT!”

Joel’s broken body could finally relax even though he ached literally everywhere, even in places outside of his flesh suit.

“Wow…you really are pathetic, Joel. You really are the weakest bastard I’ve ever met. Let’s go, quitter!” Chainsaw Fist wrapped his intestinal necklace around Joel’s throat and dragged his exhaustively bloody body across the ashen cement. He was too destroyed to care. He had lived in Meat Grinder City for far too long. There were several moments during his homelessness where he could have quit. He wanted to believe there was still life left in him. But if there was, he’d put up at least a little bit of a struggle against his worst critic.

“You can’t quit mental illness, Mr. Upton,” said a throaty, yet gentle voice that belonged to a hairy demon with spikes all over his body. The room Joel found himself in was still covered in flames. But these were warm flames that glowed like an outdoor campfire. They hurt like hell. They burned down the last of his brain cells. But even in Meat Grinder City’s loneliest prison cell, Joel knew he could relax.

Then again, he had no choice since he was chained to a wooden table. He also had his head shaved and a metal helmet strapped to his naked scalp. The furry demon used his talon to jot down a few notes in his wizard’s spell book. “You probably don’t believe me right now, but this is the safest place you can be. The streets should be nobody’s home.”

Entering the prison cell were three porcelain mannequins, all of which had snakes growing out of their heads. One of them had muscles etched into his torso, another had the feminine features of a Greek goddess, and the third was a child no taller than an average human’s waist. The woman’s sweet voice struck a familiar chord with Joel. “Everything will be okay, honey. We still love you.”

Tears welled up in Joel’s already bloodshot and battered eyes. “Wendy? Is that you?” The face of the woman he fell in love with all those years ago formed behind her gorgon façade. And then the face of his daughter broke free from porcelain permanence. But who was this strange man who accompanied them?

Wendy held Joel’s hand while the snakes in her hair smiled at him. “You’ve been gone for so long ever since you had your breakdown. We never forgot about you. Yes, I have remarried, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. I was so worried about you. Our daughter had nightmares.” The snakes wrapped around Joel for a hug. And then the daughter’s snakes wrapped around his legs. And the new husband’s snakes gave him the warmest grins.

“Wendy…I’m so sorry I didn’t seek help earlier. I didn’t want to quit what I poured my heart into for so long. I was so obsessed that it drove me insane…All I had to do was quit…”

“You don’t have to be strong anymore,” said Wendy with tears in her own eyes. “It’s okay to quit when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Nobody’s ashamed of you.”

“But what about those jerks on the street who laughed at me?” asked Joel through a stuffy nose.

“Fuck ‘em” said the new husband, which earned a round of laughter from everybody in the room.

Wendy and the daughter broke their embraces. The gorgon mother of his child said, “We’ll visit you for as long as we need to. If you need anything, we’re always a skip and a hop away.” She kissed her palm and waved goodbye, the daughter waving as well while the husband gave a thumbs up.

Joel’s tears accumulated as he watched his old family walk away, leaving the hair-covered demon doctor to do his duty. He pulled a snake fang out of his fur and attached it to a miniature spinning chainsaw. “You desperately need a vacation from your mind, Mr. Upton. And when you awaken, we can try some cognitive behavioral therapy. But for now…relax…and enjoy the darkness…”

Joel didn’t even try to fight the injection into his arm despite the fact that the needle resembled Chainsaw Fist’s favorite toy. Fire and poison flowed through his body, but they were just formalities to a much-needed vacation from a schizophrenic mind. He switched between Meat Grinder City and the psychiatric ward of the Seattle hospital while simultaneously drifting off into sleep. The furry monster became a friendly old man before morphing back into his nightmarish form. 

Back…and forth…back…and forth…the transformations resembled the motion of a baby in his mother’s arms…back…and forth…back…and forth…until darkness and snoring were all that remained of Meat Grinder City. Joel’s snoring did sound like a revving chainsaw, but that nasty ogre was nowhere to be found in such a black void of relaxation. No dreams. No hallucinations. Just hours of nothing. Getting lost in the nothing was a better vacation than Hawaiian beaches or Canadian architecture, both of which would have burst into flames anyways.

Stop

Holiday season

A good reason to sleep in

Fever dream demons

STOP!

Tell me I’m no good

In case it’s misunderstood

Quit because I should

STOP!

Play the same damn song

Like it’s ninety minutes long

Hangover’s so strong

STOP!

“What’s the matter, dude?

Don’t be such a little prude

Have some more fast food”

STOP!

“We ain’t stopping soon

We can do this until June

Happy Birthday, loon”

STOP!

I have no more words

For the ones who give me burns

None of your concern

…Stop…

It’s called thought-stopping

My blood pressure is dropping

Brain isn’t popping

…

I can breathe again

No longer have to defend

Round came to an end

…

Until the next time

When you mock my little rhymes

Tell me I should die

…Stop…

Never-ending war

Everything becomes a chore

No choice but to snore

…Stop…

Due Process

“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital. Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies” suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these patients.

The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.

McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.

The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”

Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”

“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”

Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”

“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”

Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”

McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”

“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.

McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”

Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.

She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.

“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.

McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.

It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.

“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.

From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”

As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.

He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.

Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.

“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.

It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”

“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.

“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.

Tristan Jealous

VERSE 1

Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?

Can you give me something to set me free?

A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?

A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?

Laziness and comfort, my two best friends

A friendship this close rarely ever ends

Can you scrape me out of my bed?

So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?

VERSE 2

Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove

I need my fix to keep me on the move

I came to the protest with my cardboard sign

And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine

I can face the world one demon at a time

But all at once? That’s the steepest climb

Here comes the circus, here come the clowns

Not one safe space in this crumbling town

VERSE 3

Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?

Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?

Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three

Only then will she see the best of me

I sit in the park trying to remain calm

Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm

Maybe I should turn and walk away

Save my courage for yet another day

BRIDGE

Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous

I’m feeling a little bit rebellious

Call a medic, yes, I said it

My chart is in need of an edit

I cannot take this, I cannot fake it

I’m not sure if I can even make it

Doctor, doctor, help me out now

‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down

VERSE 4

Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone

I’m trapped in this white cell all alone

The nurses told me over and over again

That I’ll be free when eternity ends

Everyone here is blending together

Washed away like stormy weather

Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name

Please tell them that I’m not to blame

Silent Warrior, Chapter 22

“I wanna go home…take off this uniform and leave the show…but I’m waiting in this cell because I have to know…have I been guilty all this time?”

Scott George’s trembling rendition of “Stop” by Pink Floyd was met with a sarcastic golf clap from the shadows of his jail cell. A familiar voice said, “Good one, buddy. You really do have the prettiest little voice. The last time I heard singing that good, you were bawling like a big baby over your daddy’s grave.” With shadows now covering only half of his face like a neo-noir villain, Alan Young’s hideously transformed visage sent chills up Scott’s spine. Tattoos on his arms, a short Mohawk, and scars on his face marked Alan’s metamorphosis from childhood brat to demonic tormentor.

Unwilling to let this bruiser shake him any further, Scott descended into bathos by angrily joking, “What the hell were YOU doing at a graveyard anyways? I was grieving my dead father. What about you? You can’t get laid any other way, so you’re going to give necrophilia a try?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious, Scott. You’re just fucking marvelous. It’s especially ironic considering how you got yourself in this jail cell to begin with. Though I do admit, you couldn’t have found a better piece of ass than Adrienne fucking Simpson, I’ll tell you that right now.”

Scott bolted out of his bunk bed and shouted, “Don’t you ever talk that way about her again, you fat piece of shit!”

“Or what? You’re going to strangle me and get me kicked out of prison like you did on that bus ride? Come on, dude, you’ve got way too much to lose and you know it. You throw one punch at me and it’s off to the hole for you. Me? I don’t give a fuck where I go from here. The only thing I’ve got left to lose is my own sanity and even that’s questionable.”

Folding his arms and giving his cellmate the gorgon death stare, Scott asked, “What do you want from me, Alan? You want to keep making my life a living hell? What for? Why me? Why not somebody else? Answer me, damn it!”

Alan stood up quickly and barked, “You want to know why?! I’ll tell you why. I don’t do it because of your skinny ass body. I don’t do it because I can. I don’t even want your survivor’s benefits from your dear old daddy kicking the bucket. The reason I gave you hell all those years is because of who you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, because you’re too blind to see it. Your massive ego won’t let you. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re a phony. You like to rage against the machine and all that bullshit. Guess what? I’ve always wanted to rage against the machine too. Growing up with Aloysius tends to do that to a man. All this talk about communities and worms and puppets and shit…if I ever do get thrown in the hole, that’s probably what I’m going to think about the most.”

Scott’s expression softened and his arms went limp at this revelation. But he would still hold his ground against the much larger and much more aggressive cellmate.

Alan wagged his finger at Scott and ranted, “Yeah, that’s right. The old Freudian excuse. I can play that card until the end of time. I abuse other people because I too was a victim of disgusting shit. That would be the convenient answer. But that’s not it. Aloysius is just one piece of the puzzle. It’s the whole world that fucks with my mind the most. And you, you’re the biggest hypocrite of them all. You claim to be about individuality and personal freedom, yet here you are sucking up to the teachers so that you can get the best grades. Don’t you see, Scott? You’re doing what they’re telling you to do. They’ve got you by the balls, buddy! Me? I don’t want a pointless career. I want to watch the world burn. Being in jail waiting for my sentence gave me time to think about it and that’s what I want most out of life.”

Scott half-grinned and shook his head before saying, “So that’s it, huh? Because life didn’t turn out the way you wanted, you want to watch the system around you collapse. Well, guess what, lard ass! My life wasn’t exactly a bed of roses either! I too have nightmares that keep me from getting the sleep I deserve! I haven’t eaten a decent meal in god knows how long! And yes, I’m in jail because the world wants me to be here! But I don’t want to watch the world burn! You know why? Because without a world to live in, there’d be no place for people like Adrienne to grow up. I know not everybody in the world is a Mr. Simpson clone. I don’t paint everybody with the same brush like you do. There are good people in this world and they’re the people I’m fighting for! I don’t care how long I have to stay in this cell, because I won’t let jail break me!”

Alan blitzed towards Scott, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. “Bullshit!” the bully shouted. “You’re not going to beat the system that easily! Everybody who comes through here turns into the ugliest fucking monster imaginable! You’re no different from the rest of the losers in this jail! You’re going to break one way or another and if I have to be the one who breaks you, goddamn it, I will!”

“Go for it, Alan! Make a move! You’ll be taking those words to solitary confinement! It’s just like you said to me a few minutes ago! That shit works both ways, my friend! You want to take a swing at me?! Go ahead!”

Alan smiled sadistically and bore his yellow demonic fangs while clutching Scott’s shirt tighter than before. “If that’s what you want, then ask and ye shall receive!” Alan dropped his victim with a right hook to the gut, causing him to cough and wheeze violently. Scott even spit up a few droplets of blood. Alan grabbed his hair and said, “You see that? That’s what happens when you don’t eat your meat, let alone your pudding. Yeah, I can quote Pink Floyd too, buddy. Look around you: nobody’s coming to save you because nobody cares. I bet watching the world burn sounds pretty fucking good right now, doesn’t it?”

The next attack in Alan’s arsenal was a knee to the chest, bouncing Scott against the metal bunk bed and causing even more heavy, blood-laced breathing. “Pathetic. That’s all you are, Scott.” Alan turned around and sat down on his bed while watching his victim collected what was left of himself.

Scott sat against his bunk and heaved some more, his lungs and heart working overtime to make sure he didn’t drop dead right then and there. And then he mustered up enough oxygen to get these words out in a clear voice: “Is that all you got?”

Alan’s hamburger face morphed into monstrous rage when he stood back up and shouted, “No, it’s not all I got, you dumb shit!” He pulled a shank from under his pillow and glared down at his prey with venom and fire in his bulging eyes. “You just don’t know when to break, do you? That’s alright. You don’t ever have to worry about breaking ever again. As your daddy will tell you…dead men tell no tales!”

The bully jerked Scott up by his neck and held the blade to his throat, drawing a tiny droplet of sweet red juice. “You see that, Scotty boy? That’s what jail is really like. You haven’t been here that long and you’re already knocking on hell’s gates. Say hello to your dear old daddy for me!”

Scott’s rage glowed a brighter shade of red than the goop pouring out of his mouth, nose, and throat. A night in solitary confinement would have been a welcome time to rest his bones if it meant he could live another day. He forgot all about the possibility of losing his sanity in a dark room. Did he really have it to begin with?

Scott swung his leg backwards and made Alan a permanent cast member of the Nutcracker Suite, causing him to drop the blade and leaving him open for a sharp elbow to the nose. Alan’s already demonic face looked like it went through a wood chipper after that blood-curdling blow. Both combatants lay limp on the floor floating in and out of consciousness while the sounds of boots pounding the cement floor flooded their ears.

Scott could hear the cacophony of swear words and authoritative threats as both he and Alan were being dragged out of their cell, though in different directions. He could distinctly hear one of the guards threaten, “You’re in a lot of trouble, little boy!” Although, he couldn’t discern who it was being said to. Either way, Scott knew he was up shit creek without a paddle, judging from how roughly he was being dragged away from the scene of the fight.

Was it this easy to break in prison? Was there anybody out there truly strong enough to withstand such a torturous grind? Scott couldn’t think of one person that fit the bill. Even superheroes would go crazy in this shitty place if they didn’t get brutally murdered. Getting out on a sweetheart deal didn’t mean shit either. The prisoners were dead inside by the time they tasted freedom, thus ensuring this place’s status as a graveyard rather than a real housing facility. At least when death or insanity washed over Scott, he would be reunited with his father, which wasn’t much of a silver lining considering he would also lose Adrienne forever. Scott took a temporary vacation from the ultra madness when his vision faded to black.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 16

Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.

The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”

Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”

“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”

With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested?  You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”

“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”

“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.

Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”

Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”

Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”

“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.

“Eighteen. Why?”

Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”

Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”

“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”

Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”

“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”

“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”

Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”

Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”

Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.

Dumb Asses

VERSE 1

A drug zombie with his Johnson hanging out

A drunken loony shouting gibberish so loud

Giving hand jobs in exchange for change

With a hairy palm all covered with mange

Giving blow jobs with infected bloody gums

Now you’ve got rivers of pus in your cum

These are the characters you see at a bus station

Or out on the streets doing public masturbation

CHORUS 1

Dumb asses should be a priority

Locked up by the highest authority

Locked up in a room full of white

Straightjacket fitting oh so tight

VERSE 2

Laughing at nothing but the wall in front of him

Shouting conspiracy theories about the government

Smelling like shit and a pack of cigarettes

Jaywalking blindly where the streets intersect

Everyone’s walking just a little bit faster

While the acid trip is his psyche’s master

His hand goes up an unsuspecting woman’s skirt

He squeezes so hard that it starts to fucking hurt

CHORUS 2

Dumb asses should be a priority

Everywhere we go, they are the majority

Buses, ferries, and even taxi cabs

Walking ain’t crowded, but it’s sure a drag

VERSE 3

I’ll never go back to this city anymore

Except to listen to music so hardcore

Except to eat at the best restaurants

Except to hold signs in the biggest font

A love-hate relationship with the clown town

For every breath of fresh air, a stain that’s brown

For every sane guy, there’re a hundred freaks

For every bus trip, there’s the jerk of the week

COMBINED CHORUSES

Dumb asses should be a priority

Locked up by the highest authority

Locked up in a room full of white

Straightjacket fitting oh so tight

Dumb asses should be a priority

Everywhere we go, they are the majority

Buses, ferries, and even taxi cabs

Walking ain’t crowded, but it’s sure a drag

FINAL LINES

Dumb asses should be a priority X4

Dumb asses!

You Tried to Kill Me

VERSE 1

You call it a trigger, I call it something bigger

I call you liquored, you’re the one who’s sicker

You tried to take away what I hold highest

My heart, mind, soul, and beautiful silence

Kleptomancy is your magic of choice

Obnoxious bullhorn is your style of voice

I would have screamed to the skies for help

How can anyone hear when I’m chained in hell?

CHORUS 1

You tried to kill me!

You tried to end it all!

You tried to kill me!

You made me take the fall!

VERSE 2

Your empty talk is like a buzzing wasp

Stinging me until my brain goes pop

Pop goes the weasel, down go the people

You make fun of everyone? That’s your spiel?

I don’t buy the idea that this shit’s not personal

You wished me humiliated, wished me terminal

I want to wrap my hands around your pencil neck

Watch shit and piss run down your fucking leg

CHORUS 2

You tried to kill me!

You tried to end my life!

You tried to kill me!

You might as well pull the knife!

VERSE 3

I want to take your inner demons

Turn them against you to make us even

Every ass kicking you have ever taken

Every sad-ass smile you’re just now faking

Every time you were told to go to hell

Every time the crowd laughed when you fell

You’re in my shoes, you’re singing the blues

To say otherwise is nothing but fake news

CHORUS 3

I tried to kill you!

Put your memories to rest!

I tried to kill you!

Make you famous, not like the rest!

You tried to kill me!

You tried to make me small!

You tried to kill me!

How does it feel to curl in a ball?!

You tried to kill me!

"Moon Knight, Vol. 1: Lunatic" by Jeff Lemire

BOOK TITLE: Moon Knight, Vol. 1: Lunatic

AUTHOR: Jeff Lemire

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Superhero

GRADE: Pass

Marc Specter wakes up in a corrupt mental hospital with no clue how he got there. He spent his previous life masquerading as vigilante superhero Moon Knight, but the abusive orderlies and condescending psychologist try to coerce him into believing he’s just a nut case who deserves to be locked up. With the help of several patients who believe his story, Moon Knight attempts to escape the hospital in order to complete a mission given to him by his head voices: to assassinate the Egyptian god Seth and bring his monstrous army to its knees.

The lines between reality and insanity are blurred so many times in this graphic novel that it’s hard to pick a side, which is a good way to challenge the reader and make him analyze what the hell is going on. On one hand, you want to believe that the Moon Knight is a real superhero and that he wants to do the right thing. On the other hand, there are times when the questions surrounding Moon Knight’s sanity are valid and reasonable. Even when this first volume comes to its end, the jury’s still out as to whether or not this is all madness. When you’re forced to draw your own conclusions, you’re officially engaged as a reader and you want to buy more volumes of this Moon Knight series to find out if your suspicions are correct. This first volume is the addictive bait and the proceeding chapters will lead you to bigger fish.

Whether you believe it’s insanity or not, you have to admit that the mental hospital staff are a bunch of corrupt bastards who have no business in the medical industry. The orderlies assault Moon Knight for no reason and strap him to the shock table whenever they damn well feel like it. The head psychologist is no better; the way she talks down to her patients breeds resistance to treatment rather than progression. This could be a political statement about how prisons and mental hospitals (which are really just prisons for crazy people) are all about profit and will do whatever they can to make more money by keeping their inmates locked up indefinitely. Being released into society does nothing, because the inmate will be so angry from his time under lockdown that he’ll commit more crimes and wind up back where he started. Imagine how refreshing it’ll be to see the orderlies and doctors get the stuffing beaten out of them and literally get a taste of their own medicine. Patience, my friends. Patience.

The final thing I have to admire about this graphic novel is that there’s a lot of creativity underneath the guise of insanity. When the orderlies, doctors, and other villains are portrayed as Egyptian monsters and the world portrayed as an apocalyptic desert, the reader can begin to understand why Moon Knight feels the way he does. People like to say that there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. If it means I can have all of this creative fuel for when I want to write a psychological fantasy story, then I don’t mind the insanity at all. I’d rather be crazy and wild than sedated and boring. The mental hospital represents all of the boring conformity the world has to offer. I wouldn’t mind watching that place burn to the ground in a future volume of Moon Knight. Creativity and artistic thinking are what make this world work. That’s why STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) should also include A (arts) to make it STEAM. So many statements in only a 124-page graphic novel.

Superhero fanatics will enjoy the action and fantasy elements of this beautifully crafted graphic novel. Psychology enthusiasts will also get a kick out of this despite their oozing hatred for the mental hospital staff. This isn’t just a nonstop ass-kicking rollercoaster; this is something to think long and hard about. I wouldn’t mind seeing this graphic novel as part of a college’s English curriculum. Lord knows there will be plenty of discussions surrounding that. A passing grade will go to this awesome piece of superhero fiction. A stunning debut for the Moon Knight franchise!

Lysergic Bugs Bunny Cartoon

VERSE 1

What’s up, doc, besides your cock?

Enough with the talk, it’s time to rock

Purple elephants and yellow zebras

Acid rainfall for continuous seasons

Epic battles with bloody violence

Crushing kick from a kung fu tigress

Your imagination is running wild

Like it used to when you were a child

CHORUS

Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

VERSE 2

With all the colors painted on your brain

Pour your heart out all over the page

Paint a picture with your rainbow blood

Make some music with your stoner bud

Unicorns with those devilish horns

Dark elf sex too X-rated for porn

This is your art; it comes from your heart

Nobody will tell you it’s just a brain fart

CHORUS

Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

VERSE 3

Is it genius or insanity? Who gives a shit?

Just have lots of fun while you’re doing it

Just one star? Give me a fucking break

You’ve seen many stars reflecting off the lake

A golden raspberry is a delicious fruit

A clown’s costume is a business suit

Gobbledygook is the perfect hook

Certain to sell a shit load of books

EXTENDED CHORUS

Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

Let’s all trip out like buffoons!

Necromancy written out in runes!

Pyromancy will be the law soon!

Theomancy is for the looniest loons!

Electromancy is for the metal tunes!

Let’s go crazy! Let’s get naughty!

Drop your drawers! Shake your body!

FINAL LINE

Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

Madhouse

“I got you now, you little fruitcake!” said Joe Fields with an arrogant smirk and a cigar pressed between his teeth. He could smell the “vermin” from miles away, even with puffs of tobacco smoke sailing across his face. Both of his index fingers were itchy and twitchy as they rested on the triggers of his dual machineguns. His bulky metal armor was easier to move around in than he thought. The metal boots made loud clomping sounds as Joe walked through the bamboo forest, but even this mercenary was confident that his target had nowhere to hide. Hell, if Joe wanted to, he could blow this whole forest down like the Big Bad Wolf, except with his machineguns instead of cigar breath.

The target’s tiny footprints led the grinning mercenary to a Japanese-style temple with a wooden balcony, white paper walls, a bamboo roof, and flowery decorations all around. “You’re making this too easy for me, you little twit!” said Joe as he cocked both of his machineguns. The psychotic smile on his face suggested that he didn’t care if his target lived a torturous existence or died a brutal death. “You’re mine, you little bitch! Your ass is mine!” he said in his gruff voice.

With his metal feet creating tiny tremors, the soldier of fortune marched toward the seemingly abandoned temple before kicking down the wooden door with shattering ease. Joe poked his head inside and sniffed around for his target like a hungry wolf. With the exception of a few potted plants, paintings, and samurai swords, the place was empty. But instead of waiting for a pin to drop, Joe clomped and crashed his way inside, not giving two shits if the wooden floor was cracking and splintering.

“I can smell that stank on you, you little weasel! Drop the bowl of rice and come out here with your hands up!” A few more animalistic snorts and Joe let out such a forceful sneeze that he yelled like a grizzly bear and dropped his cigar. As snot flew from his nose and extinguished the cherry, Joe began to notice the light coating of dust all around the walls and the floor. “Really? Dust? Is that all you got? Holy shit, you’re in for a wild ride, motherfucker! You only have nine holes in your body right now. I’ll put about a hundred more in you, you slick son of a bitch!”

A monstrous growl caught Joe’s attention to where he reluctantly turned around with his guns drawn. Standing in the kicked in doorway was a seven-foot lizard demon with its blade-like tongue hanging down to its knees. Its claws were extended and its screech was deafening. The beast looked poised to strike, but quick as it may be, Joe’s trigger fingers were that much faster. A hailstorm of bullets descended upon the “big ugly fucker” and shredded skin and bones to a fine powder. The blood stayed floating in the air in the shape of a sphere.

“What the fuck is this shit? Is this some kind of voodoo bitch negro spell or what?” shouted Joe. Skull shaped blood spheres began emitting from the liquid mass and staring down the mercenary with misty black eyes. Their tongues flailed around like whips while their jaws were wide open and leaking with green fluids.

Joe once again showered his opponents with bullets, but all the shots did was splatter a modicum of blood stains all over the paper walls. The floating blood skulls still remained and even let out an eardrum-shattering yell. Joe squinted his eyes in confusion and terror as a brown bubbling substance was rising from the back of their mouths.

The formerly arrogant mercenary turned around and ran screaming like a child, mustering up every curse word on the top of his whacked out head. The more he ran, the steeper the incline in the wooden floor, which was like walking up a wall. Joe huffed and wheezed in exhaustion after draining his legs in such heavy armor. The armor felt hot and muggy to where he struggled to take it off. After a while of struggling, he dropped his guns and used the power in his metal gloves to just rip the armor off a few chunks at a time.

The incline in the floor lessened to a normal base and Joe was feeling the sweaty chill in his confederate flag T-shirt and baggy camouflage pants. He got so cold that he wrapped his arms around himself and huddled on the floor. And then he felt a tidal wave of vomit wash over him as well as dissolved blood and banshee cries. The bloody skulls left him so drenched afterwards that he struggled to breathe underneath the weight of such liquid. After coughing up retched fluids and vomiting himself, Joe looked around the temple with glassy red eyes and said, “Where the hell am I? What the fuck is this place?!”

“This is what you wanted all along, right?” said a mysterious voice. Joe looked around for the source, but the temple was still the same vomit and blood covered mess it was before, minus humans. “I’m the voice inside of you, Joe. I’m the one who’s going to tell you to get the hell out of this temple before it’s too late. You don’t need to catch anybody. This isn’t your job.”

Joe tightly gripped both sides of his head as the inner voice felt like he was being attacked with an ice pick. The mercenary even banged his head against the soaked floor and shouted, “Stop it! Leave me alone! You’re not real!” The inner voice chanted a Japanese-sounding magic spell and that only made Joe slam his head harder, which opened up a huge gash on his forehead.

Instead of blood pouring from the wound, a hooded cobra slithered out and danced around on the floor. Joe fearfully crab-walked backwards as the cobra hissed and spit venom in his mouth. The mercenary coughed, hacked, and puked until a mouthful of tarantulas poured out and joined the cobra in its dance.

Joe’s bloodshot eyes widened in horror as the cobra and the spiders swirled together in a purple tornado, taking the form of a ghostly samurai in blue robes. The spiritual warrior pulled out his katana and pointed it sternly at the blubbering gun-for-hire.

“Please, don’t kill me!” begged Joe with his hands together prayer-style. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here. I just came here for a job and I ended up in....whatever the hell this place is!”

“In other words, you’re not sorry that you were chasing an innocent human being. You’re sorry because you got caught doing it,” said the “inner voice”, which now belonged to the samurai. “You knew all along that your target did nothing wrong. He was defending himself from local police after they tried to unlawfully arrest him. And now here you are trying to find someone who is no longer here. All for what? An ill-gotten paycheck? You disgust me!”

“Disgust?” whimpered Joe. “You thought that was disgusting? What about what this place is doing to me? What about all the lizards and blood and skulls and shit? You mean there’s nothing disgusting about any of that? You’re a bigger scumbag than me and that’s saying something! You’d better let me the fuck out of here or I’m going to pick my guns back up and blow this whole place down!”

“You want to leave?” asked the samurai. “You really want to give up on your mission because you can’t handle your opponent? Is this what you want?”

“Yes! Yes, you idiot! I just want to get the fuck out of here! I’ve had it with this shit!” sobbed Joe.

The samurai stared him down with sternness and poison in his eyes, but ultimately decided to put his sword away. “There’s nothing to stop you, Mr. Fields. You can walk out of here anytime you want. The exit has been there all along.” The samurai pointed to the smashed in front door, which now had a brightly lit portal in its way. “Go. Leave here immediately and never come back again.”

Joe’s teary eyes felt relaxed and hypnotized as he slowly made his way to the portal. “Leave…here…immediately…never…come back…again…” he said in a zombie-like voice. He reached his arm out to touch the light and the magnetic force pulled him through. He swam and swirled through the heavenly aura, finally able to rest after all of the nightmare fuel he took in that day.

When he crossed through to the other side, Joe found his arms trapped in a straightjacket and that he was in a white padded cell with only a small hole in the door to look out of. He struggled and fought in his bonds, but the jacket was too tight and he was too exhausted from the sedatives he received.

A doctor and a nurse could be heard having a conversation outside the cell. “Read me the summary on this one,” said the doctor.

The nurse flipped through the papers on a clipboard and read off, “Joseph Robert Fields, age thirty-five. Was admitted to psychiatric care after inhaling a large amount of PCP dust. He has shown signs of aggression and had to be given fifteen milliliters of sedatives. Previous criminal history includes aggravated mayhem, property damage, assault and battery, and aggravated kidnapping.”

Did Joe hear them right? PCP dust? Was the whole temple scattered with it? Knowing that he had been had caused the newest patient to thrash around in his cell and scream infinite curse words, to which the doctor and nurse backed away from the door and allowed him to work out his pent up violence. It may have been a while before he did, but anything was better than dealing with this sick son of a bitch in any capacity.

Predator

VERSE 1
You took something of mine I may never get back
You took something of mine in a vicious attack
My soul, my sanity, my very spiritual essence
Taken away by the world’s harshest lessons
Never turn your back on a hungry predator
When it comes to the past, you can’t be the editor
Dormant and dumb, that’s how you left me
I might as well be a package of fresh meat


CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?


VERSE 2
I let my guard down for the shortest of seconds
You were already waiting for me with your weapon
Sex and love became known as boots and blood
Of all the nights, this is my least romantic one
I want to vomit, but nothing is coming up
I want to cry, but my eyes are drying up
All that remain are flashbacks and numbness
How can anybody in their right mind love this?


CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?


VERSE 3
Disgust and distrust are all the same to me
I’ve learned to hate you to the highest degree
So much venom running deep in my veins
Knowing none of this could ever be the same
I think about slaying my demons every night
With brutal barbarism and a warrior’s might
But in the end, I’m back on the same page
Another day to continue this cycle of rage


CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?


VERSE 4
Demons and predators both equal shit
They like to say, “You’ve asked for it!”
No honor among thieves of the heart and soul
Bury all the wasted pieces in a fiery hole
You disgust me, so do all who support you
The gentleman in me says to just report you
Gentleman I am not, only a vengeful madman
Who will leave you bloodied in the badlands

Scarecrow Justice

Living out in the middle of nowhere had many benefits. For the Cobra Strike Militia and their top hit man Edward Bell, it meant freedom from federal agents. But even the motorcycle-riding assassin knew that such liberties were at risk. Something had to be done to make sure certain government officials didn’t make it to their elections. For such “urgent matters”, there was a pistol with a silencer at the end of it stowed in the duffel bag in the side car of the motorcycle, along with other kick-ass toys of destruction.

It was the perfect day for riding through the countryside. The sun was shining brightly upon the cornfields. The only thing breaking the silence for Edward Bell was his bike engine, which was purring like the machinegun he kept in his duffel bag. Unfortunately for him, it was also popping and banging like one. Soon enough, the motorcycle was slowing down and all Edward could say was, “Goddamn it!” when he pulled over to the side of the desolate road.

Such colorful language continued to pour from Edward’s mouth like a flood of obscenities. He loved his motorcycle and couldn’t stand to watch it break down, especially since the time window in between assassinations was getting thin. He ripped the duffel bag out of the side car with his muscular, tattooed hands and unzipped it before searching through its contents for repair tools.

A middle aged white guy with a gray ponytail and black paramilitary gear fixing his bike on the side of the road would have looked suspicious to a lot of people. Edward would have had the solitude he needed if it hadn’t been for the sounds of throaty whispering coming from the cornfields. He stopped turning the wrench on his engine and looked around with a “What the hell?” expression on his bearded face. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back to work with the wrench.

And then the throaty whispers were getting louder. Edward was starting to think he was going insane. He stood up with his monkey wrench held like a weapon and looked around to see where the noise was coming from. He couldn’t find the source and his heart began to beat loudly in his chest. He wiped a cool sweat as it trickled down his forehead into his eyes. The anxiety continued to build as those angry whispers were tormenting him like an acute case of schizophrenia.

“Where the hell are you?! Show yourself! I’ve got enough guns in my bag to rip your ass to shreds! And I love shooting my guns! I don’t give a damn what the government says!” And yet when he was searching through his duffel bag to find his silencer pistol, he was fumbling with it even though it was in plain sight. When he finally had a good grip on it, he felt a hand made from straw grabbing his shoulder from within the cornfields.

Edward had nearly pissed himself as he screamed and crab-walked backwards in blood-chilling fear, leaving his guns to the mercy of whoever grabbed him. Instead of a “Yankee fed”, it was a living, breathing, gossamer and straw-covered scarecrow with a carved pumpkin for a head. His carved eyes were glowing bright orange and his elongated teeth were drooling with blood. He also had several large spiders crawling all over his body and he didn’t even care.

As Edward Bell’s heart beat even faster and his sweaty body rained with salty fluids, he tried to sound brave when he threatened the hideous monster before him when he said, “You stay away from my gun bag! I have the right to have those!”

“Relax. Take a deep breath. I don’t want your pathetic little guns,” said the scarecrow in a demonic whisper. He crept like a zombie across the road with Edward continuing to scoot backwards in underwear-shitting fear. “My name is Cackle-Puss. Laugh at my name if you want, but I’m not going anywhere until I get something from you. It’s something I’ve wanted since you began your career as a hit man.”

The militia assassin was able to calm down long enough to question the legitimacy of Cackle-Puss’s monster status. He stood up, dusted his flak vest and camouflage pants off, and said, “What a damn minute here! There ain’t no such thing as ghosts! This is all a bunch of hocus pocus bullshit! There ain’t nothing stopping me from sticking my boot up your straw ass right now, bitch!”

He marched up to the scarecrow to do just that before Cackle-Puss shape-shifted into someone Edward recognized right away. It was the politician he was sent to kill: John Merton, Democrat of Paulson City. “Do you really want to kill me, Mr. Bell? Is a 12% tax on cigarettes really going to limit your freedom that much? Would you really take me away from my wife and children over something as stupid as politics? I’ve been in this game many times, but you’re the first who wanted to kill me over it. I’m a father and a husband. You have no right to…”

Before the hallucination of John Merton could finish his sentence, Edward took a swing and clocked him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground with a puddle of blood in his wake. The hit man arrogantly chuckled to himself as he knelt down and pulled the politician’s hair to show his face. Except it wasn’t his face anymore. Cackle-Puss had morphed into a beautiful young blond woman and had a pregnant belly to go with the new form.

The woman said, “Why would you do this to me, Edward? I was your wife for ten long years. We were going to have a family together. You started getting drunk every night and then you killed me and our son. I wanted to leave you, but you wouldn’t let me. Why, Edward? After all these years, why?!”

The hit man was now terrified once again as he shakily released his grip on his ex-wife’s hair. He looked down at her pregnant belly and saw a bloody wound in place of their unborn son. Edward Bell backed up slowly on wobbly legs and breathed heavily. Soon that breathing became angry. His brows furrowed and his fists clenched when he said, “This is all a trick! This is bullshit! Magic doesn’t exist! Not in my world! You think you’ve got one over on me, Cackle-Puss?! Don’t insult me, you sick bastard!”

He was about to bring his combat boot down on the morphing scarecrow’s face, but stopped midway through when there was yet another transformation. It was a little Basset hound with a bruised body, bloody jowls, a slashed ear, and a shaky body. The little guy whined and pleaded with Edward, who in turn started trembling in fear as he dropped to his knees and allowed tears to form in his eyes.

“Hey there, little guy,” said the assassin with a quivering mouth. “I didn’t mean to do all that nasty stuff to you. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was never anything personal. You believe me, right?”

Edward reached his bloody hand out to try and pet the battered puppy, but then Cackle-Puss transformed back into his scarecrow form and the militia nitwit got a bite from the pumpkin-head’s bloody fangs instead. Edward backpedaled and howled in pain while clutching his chomped hand. He fell back on his ass while Cackle-Puss stalked him slowly with fiery eyes and a malicious smile.

“So that’s your answer to everybody you’ve killed. It’s never personal. It’s all part of the job, right?” said the scarecrow. “Because little doggies are a threat to your freedom. So is your wife. So is your unborn child. And so is a politician who also happens to be a family man. How many more must die before you’re satisfied with your ill-gotten constitutional rights? How many guns must you fire for the sake of freedom? How many more? How many more? How many more?!”

Cackle-Puss kept repeating that last question, but in the voices of everybody Edward Bell killed along his path to a free America. The paramilitary soldier clutched his skull and rocked back and forth in schizophrenic agony. He couldn’t stand these voices. He couldn’t stand the fact that Cackle-Puss was right. So he made yet another excuse for himself when he jumped to his feet and threw a flying kick at the scarecrow’s pumpkin head, knocking it off his shoulders.

The head was still screaming in pain, but the body was kneeling down while the spiders and gossamers were fading away. Still in berserk mode, Edward Bell finally pulled his silencer pistol out of his bag and fired several rounds into Cackle-Puss’s body. And then Edward pulled out an automatic rifle and peppered it in bullets. And then he pulled out a shotgun and blasted the hell out of the spiders and gossamers. He pulled out every gun in his bag and emptied it on the scarecrow while its pumpkin head pleaded for mercy using the voices of Edward’s victims.

In the mess of spider corpses, bloody straw, and broken cobwebs, Edward knelt down and raised his fists to the sky before letting out a barbaric war cry. Cackle-Puss’s head, which was still alive, was watching this scene in horror and still sobbing in the victims’ voices. The hit man picked up the pumpkin head and stared into its devilish eyes. “Where’s your bag of magic tricks now, you sick son of a bitch?! Where’s your necromancy?! Who are you going to change into now?! Huh?! You think you’re fucking tough?!”

The sounds of police sirens filled the air and Edward turned his head around to give an evil look at the red and blue flashing lights coming his way. Cackle-Puss laughed at him and said, “How many more, Edward? How many more?”

“How many more? I’ll take them all down in a blaze of glory! And you, Cackle-Puss…you’re just another casualty in the war on America!” said Edward before punching the pumpkin head and getting blood and brains all over his hand. He chucked the monster head aside and picked up another shotgun he kept in his bag. “Let’s do this shit!” He pumped the gun ready to go.

Except there would be no suicide by cop this afternoon. Those weren’t cop lights coming his way. Those were ambulance lights. All the guns in the world couldn’t keep Edward Bell from finding himself in a straightjacket in a padded cell while repeating the words of Cackle-Puss. No one believed his scarecrow story. They believed his antigovernment rhetoric even less.

A man of Edward’s insanity possessing that many guns would be even bigger campaign fuel for John Merton’s election. Edward Bell affected change alright, but not in the way he would have liked. Being in a mental institution for the rest of his life wasn’t exactly a desired outcome. The worst part about it? He gets visitation hours every night. His only visitor? Cackle-Puss, bringer of scarecrow justice!