GamerGate and "Ethics in Journalism" (Bullshit)

 

American Grass-Touchers Association

When you touch the grass with your bridal gown

You too can be the Star of the County Down

But that’s miles away from the place you stay

A ticket to ride would cost your annual pay

Think globally, use your pleasant demeanor

Act locally, that’s where the grass is greener

Take Princess Puppy-Duppy to the public park

Take in the sunshine and symphony of barks

Too much drama on the information highway

Holy war on Sunday, fight night on Friday

Working your ass off, come home to a new grind

Let’s see who’s narcissistic, let’s see who whined

Pick a side, any side, just pick the right one

Reach through the screen with a loaded gun

It doesn’t work like that, you simping tankie

Your face is neon red and your ass is achy

Let’s go to the movies, have a few beers

Put some club music in our bloody ears

Blast down the road in the highest gear

Make memories that last years and years

The American Grass-Touchers Association

We’re the friends you love, the easiest vacation

Your brain will thank you, quiet down for a change

No more schizophrenic songs in a tone-deaf range

Friends are forever, your idols never knew you

Ask for an autograph, they’ll say, “Screw you!”

No one needs a pedestal five miles high

Don’t let them say otherwise, it’s a grifter’s lie

We got your back just like we got the check

We got the gasoline, ain’t no car wrecks

We got the hugs, we got endless fun

I enjoyed this night, let’s do another one

When you hit the sack, you’re still awake

Anticipating more memories you’ll make

Your phone is buzzing, let’s check the drama

Or let the sandman sing you to sleep like mama

Social Media Vacation

Hey, everyone. Starting tonight, I’m going to take a two-week vacation from social media. This includes Good Reads, Deviant Art, Face Book, Twitter, and You Tube. I’m hoping this will help recalibrate me after spending so much time doom-scrolling and consuming horrible news. If it’s affecting my mental health in the way I think it is, then two weeks away will be sufficient. When I eventually return, I’m probably going to have an ass-ton of notifications on all of my sites. I won’t be able to answer them all if that’s the case. Thanks for understanding and I’ll see you again on July 18th. Until then, take care, everyone.

Parasocial

VERSE 1
The beacon of light I’ve been waiting for
A platonic friendship or something more?
One-sided romance from across the screen
Like I don’t know what parasocial means
We never talk, but I can still have dreams
About making this more than it seems
The real world doesn’t even compare
The real world doesn’t fucking care

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 2
I don’t have a knife or pepper spray
Yet you back the fuck up anyway
I would too, so I can’t blame you
Don’t know if I have a loose screw
Don’t know if I’m a creepy terrorist
No confidence and less arrogance
Where else am I supposed to go?
Got nothing here but wires and crows

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

VERSE 3
I hate riding in cars in long traffic lines
I hate flying on planes for a long ass time
I hate riding on buses with dog logos
I hate riding on trains, it’s never solo
I don’t have the patience to see this through
Yet I yearn to be even closer to you
Back to the keyboard for another comment
In hopes we still have friendship in common

CHORUS
Parasocial, parasitic
Lovey-dovey, sick and twisted
Parasocial, paranormal
Who cares about morals?
Supernatural, superficial
Let’s tie the knot, make it official
Superstardom, Superhero
Take a chance on this weirdo?

FINAL VERSE
Growing older
Growing colder
You’ve moved on
Still I wait so long

"Wrestling, Issue One" by What Culture

BOOK TITLE: Wrestling, Issue One

AUTHORS: What Culture Staff

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Bookazine

GRADE: Mixed

The articles can be fascinating to any hardcore wrestling fan, but not if they suffer from the same typographical errors as the next volume in the series. Vince McMahon’s first name was spelled without an N, the word match had its A capitalized, the word to was all-caps for no apparent reason, need I name more? This wouldn’t be too big of an issue if the typos were few and far between, but they occur so frequently that I can’t give this bookazine a passing grade. A reputable editor with a fresh set of eyes could have easily pinpointed these glaring mistakes and polished this otherwise fine piece of reading material to higher standards.

Typos aside, the articles were actually fun to read, with the glaring exception of WWE vs. Internet Fans. To me, that just sounded like a bitter old man ranting and raving about the inevitable emergence of the internet, as if this new technology is somehow to blame for wrestling being as bad as it can be sometimes. It seems uncharacteristic of What Culture’s writing staff to put out such an article considering they themselves are wrestling critics and employ a mostly millennial workforce. Maybe this particular article author was an outsider from the beginning, I don’t know.

But enough about the negativity. Let’s talk about my two favorite articles in this whole bookazine. Let’s begin with Britney Pillman’s story about how her father, Brian, died of a heart attack while preparing for a WWF pay-per-view. To hear the author describe Britney’s pain as she grew up with a drug-addicted stepmother and without a loving father, it tugs at the heartstrings and makes the reader want to legitimately root for her life to improve. While Britney is in a better place since the tragic incident, she did miss out on royalty payments from the WWF that instead went to the drug-addicted stepmother Melanie Pillman. I wouldn’t wish such poverty and heartache on my worst enemy. We’ve all had to deal with toxic people at one point or another, but I think any reader can agree that Britney and her siblings need a permanent vacation from them. That’s what the author of the article did for me as a reader: put me in the role of cheerleader.

And of course, Adam Blampied’s undying creativity will always be my favorite part of What Culture’s past. Although his recent sex scandal puts me in a tough position with regards to his fandom, I can at least enjoy his vision for how he would book Rey Mysterio’s first World Championship run in WWE. No more will the lovable luchador be jobbed out to everybody and their uncle. He’ll win matches by the skin of his teeth, like a true underdog hero is supposed to. He’ll have credible opponents to put him over the moon. He’ll have blood-curdling storylines that aren’t nearly as despicable with Eddie Guerrero’s legacy as real life was. If Rey Mysterio had been booked under Adam Blampied’s guidance, I would have been a bigger believer in this ultimate underdog. But as it is…

The negatives of this bookazine shouldn’t turn you away from what is ultimately a fun read for all wrestling fans. Typos are easy to fix and even if they wanted to keep the anti-internet fan article, readers could just skip over it. There’s a top 100 wrestling match list,  a fantasy world cup tournament, a nice juxtaposition between Bray Wyatt and his eerie theme song, too many wonderful articles to name. Though not perfect, this work of nonfiction will get a respectable mixed grade out of me.

Keyboard Cops

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 1

When you were eighteen

And you were edgy

You joke on Twitter

Now you’re in the shitter

Joke on Face Book

Like an internet crook

If you get flamed

Then you are to blame

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 2

You joke about this guy

You joke about that guy

You joke about the shit

Everybody throws a fit

You joke about death

About the final breath

You joke about things

That make people sting

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 3

Nobody’s going to give you a break

They’ll just call you a snowflake

They’ll just call you a mistake

To see how much you can take

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

VERSE 4

Why did they have to act so mean

Behind the glow of a computer screen?

Born to roast like the chick from Wendy’s

You’ve got nothing left worth defending

I know sometimes you want to give up

I know sometimes you’ve gone and fucked up

CHORUS

Bad boys, bad boys

Watchu gonna do?

Watchu gonna do when they troll for you?

NARRATOR

Keyboard Cops is filmed on location with the boys and girls of the internet. All suspects are guilty until they apologize profusely and even then it won’t be enough.

Hulk Smash!

***HULK SMASH***

This past week was filled with what I like to call Incredible Hulk rage. No, I didn’t actually smash anything, but you wouldn’t know it from the intensity of my screams and the vulgarity of my curse words. But just like with any other fit of rage, I feel so tired afterwards that I don’t feel like getting any creative work done. White hot anger is a waste of energy, especially when directed at inanimate objects. And to think, my week started off with something that was easily fixable.

Since this past Wednesday, I’ve been house-sitting for my parents while they’re away in Pennsylvania visiting with extended family. They’re expected to be back late Thursday night, but their return can’t come soon enough. This past Thursday was when my Incredible Hulk rage flared up. I had just gotten back from an exhausting walk to my brother’s workplace to drop off his book. The computer was in sleep mode, so I shook the mouse, clicked it, hit the return button multiple times, and powered the computer on and off. No matter what the hell I did, my computer wouldn’t wake up. So you know what logical thing I did about it? I screamed, “Wake up!” multiple times in a voice that bordered on drill instructor and raging barbarian. I also used some colorful swear words that I don’t plan on repeating before I went into whiny mode, begging and pleading for my computer to wake up.

Believing something was seriously wrong with my computer, my last resort was to take it to Northwest Computers in Bremerton to have it fixed. By the time I was done raging like a lunatic, the store was closed. Friday would have worked, but my brother James was out all day at work and school, so he couldn’t give me a ride. Northwest Computers is closed on the weekend and major holidays (including Columbus Day), so the earliest I could have taken my computer in was Tuesday. It’s true, folks: I’m a stereotypical millennial who’s addicted to digital crack. I’m also an author with a short story collection to finish, so maybe I’m not a complete stereotype.

Either this past Friday or Saturday, I’ve been using my spare laptop to get my internet business done. And then for some reason, my laptop decided not to open Google Chrome or Internet Explorer when I double clicked the respective icons. I tried running anti-virus software and it took forever to update, so I was just resigned to the fact that the laptop was a glorified paperweight. Speaking of useless technology, it was also this past Friday or Saturday that I dropped my television remote and couldn’t turn the damn thing back on even after changing batteries. The laptop situation was easy to remedy since my mom and step-dad have a spare computer downstairs. As for the TV remote, I could just use my Wave Broadband control to turn it on and off. But the rage…so much rage…so much hate…so many curse words that I once again won’t repeat at the risk of sounding like an insensitive prick.

This past Sunday night, I ran a gamut of possible problems with my computer through my head from an overworked fan to a broken monitor. My monitor is ten years old, so it was probably closer to that than anything else. I had a spare monitor in my room, but when I hooked it up to my computer, it wouldn’t work. Just like the laptop, my spare monitor was a glorified paperweight. And then I plugged the original monitor back in and screwed the prongs in tighter this time. It worked! It’s a miracle! Praise the Lord and all of that voodoo mumbo jumbo. All of the rage, all of the tiredness, all of the heartache, it was all for nothing. It was a waste of energy that solved no problems, but only made them worse.

I’ve tried harder to control my rage in the past, but it still bubbles up every now and then, so I can’t really say I’ve learned anything from those experiences. I guess I’ll try harder next time. And the time after that. And the time after that. Or maybe I can just accept that rage is a byproduct of schizophrenia and/or depression. No breathing exercises or yoga classes are putting out this wildfire anytime soon. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

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

Because of my mom and step-dad’s computer downstairs, I was able to enter this week’s WSS contest with my latest short story “Peacemaker”. Hopefully, it’ll be a big hit with audiences everywhere. As of now, there are only ten more stories I have to write before Poison Tongue Tales 2 is complete and I can focus on writing a novel again. The next short story will be called “He’s Only Thirteen” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Danny Killian, Child Brawler
2. Saijin Lector, Demon Gangster
3. Gloria Summers, Church Choir Girl

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Gloria practices her singing alone in the church when there’s a loud banging at her doors. When she answers, Danny, who’s covered in bruises and cuts, collapses into her arms and allows her to bring him to safety. When asked about his wounds, Danny reveals that he’s a child prize fighter and he’s trying to get out of the business. The only thing stopping him is his overbearing taskmaster Saijin Lector, who has spent years training him to become a moneymaking machine with his fighting skills. Feeling ripped off, Saijin bolts into the church looking for his “prospect”. Gloria and Danny must now try to sneak out of the church and get to higher ground. Fighting isn’t an option since Saijin is a seven-foot tall beast with a chain whip as his favorite weapon. Even with all of Danny’s championship accolades, he’s too frightened to take on his former boss.

***FANG AND CLAW: UNDEAD UNIT 1***

Wrestlecrap is a distant memory and now it’s time for a new book. My original plan was to read Seraphina by Rachel Hartman, but I bailed out of it early. The confusing writing style, boring plot, and weird terminology influenced my decision to stop reading. In its place will be “Fang and Claw: Undead Unit 1” by Markie Madden, an independently published author who’s good friends with Marie Krepps. I’m on page 36 right now and so far, so good. The main character Lacey Anderson reminds me of Olivia Benson from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit with how she tackles rape cases.

***COMEDY ROUTINE OF THE DAY***

TSA AGENT: Did you pack your bags yourself?

GEORGE CARLIN: No. Carrot Top packed my bags. He, Martha Stewart, and Florence Henderson all came over to the house one night, cooked me a lovely Lobster Newburg, gave me a full body massage with sacred oils from India, performed a four way around the world, and then they packed my bags. Next question!

TSA AGENT: Have your bags been in your possession the entire time?

GEORGE CARLIN: No. Usually the night before I travel, just as the moon is rising, I place my bags out on the street corner and leave them there unattended for several hours…just for good luck. Next question!

TSA AGENT: Has any unknown person asked you to carry anything onboard?

GEORGE CARLIN. Hmm…Well, what exactly is an unknown person? Surely, everybody is known to somebody. In fact, just this morning, Kareem and Yousef Ali Ben-Gaba seemed to know each other quite well. They kept joking about which one of my bags was the heaviest.

Every Pic You Post

(In the style of “Every Breath You Take” by The Police.)

Every pic you post

Every friend you poke

Every meme you share

Every feeling you bear

I’ll be browsing you

Every single day

Every app you play

Every Face Book page

Every rant you rage

I’ll be browsing you

I can’t refrain

You’re in the public domain

How vicariously I live

With every like you give

Every video you film

Every bean you spill

Every life event thrill

Every second you kill

I’ll be browsing you

Since you’re here, I’ll look you up with no remorse

You’re already in the public eye, of course

There’s nothing they can do in the police force

There’s no sense in taking my big ass to court

I’ll browse whoever I goddamn well please!

I can’t refrain

You’re in the public domain

How vicariously I live

With every like you give

Every video you film

Every bean you spill

Every life event thrill

Every second you kill

I’ll be browsing you

Revenge Porn

Liz Ronaldson wondered how badly her body would be broken after jumping off of the suspension bridge into the icy waters below. Would her legs snap in two? Would her neck crack in different directions? Would it be over in an instant? Regardless of the two-hundred foot drop, shattered bones and punctured organs couldn’t compare to the pain she felt in her heart and soul. As she gazed hypnotically into the waters below, tears cascaded from her eyes. She tried wiping them away with the only puffy coat she had, but the tears kept coming. No matter how many times she snorted and sniffed, the loose snot wouldn’t stay up her nose. She was ready to jump. One…two…

“Hey, loser, you got five dollars on you? Gimme that shit!” She saw the incident take place only a few feet from where she planned to jump. The three bullies pushed around the smaller kid like a torturous game of volleyball, all while making wisecracks about how he was allegedly on welfare and food stamps. The smaller kid hauled back and slapped one of the bullies across the cheek. The shoving match ended with the bullies staring at the kid in shock. They swore at him with whip-cracking voices while punching him relentlessly, causing the little guy to huddle on the ground and cover.

Liz’s suicidal sorrow turned into fiery rage. Her tears became hotter. Her stomach was burning with homicidal tendencies. Her fists were clenched tightly. Reaching around for the nearest weapon she could find, she picked up a lead pipe and shouted to the bullies, “Hey! Knock that shit off! He’s just a kid, you fucking idiots!”

The bullies ended the beat down like they were told, but only to laugh and point at Liz. “Hey, look! Miss Ronaldson’s got something big in her hands! Hell, I got something big too after seeing those naked pictures!” taunted one of the bullies, resulting in even more obnoxious laughter.

Liz chucked the lead pipe at the bullies and caused them to cover up with their arms as they ran off like little bitches. The former teacher continued to throw rocks, rusty nails, glass bottles, and anything else she could get her hands on until the older kids were out of sight. Some of her projectiles hit their marks, but only did enough damage to elicit an “Ouch!” and nothing more.

“That’s right, you pussies! You’d better run like the goddamn wind! If I ever see you fuckers again, I’ll kill you all!” shouted Liz while flailing her fists in the air. Even more tears poured from her eyes and stained her tattered jeans and newspaper shoes. The little kid, which she now recognized as one of her former students, was tearing up as well. Bloody gashes covered his arms and face, but being homeless didn’t afford Liz access to proper healthcare supplies.

Liz approached the banged up kid and ripped off pieces of her fluffy jacket to use as bandages for his wounds. Neither teacher nor student could stop crying, but Liz wiped her own tears away long enough to form coherent sentences. “Hi there, Seth! You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” murmured Seth Luke. He wiped his eyes with his bloodied arm and recognized the angelic face of his recently fired English teacher. “Miss Ronaldson? Are you homeless too?”

“Please, call me Liz. I don’t deserve to be called Miss Ronaldson after what happened with those pictures. So many of my friends and family saw those.” Liz smiled sadly and shrugged before changing the topic. “What am I saying? You’re the one who got beat up. They got you pretty good. I think there’s a hospital around here somewhere. Are you well enough to walk with me?”

“Thanks for helping me, Miss Ro, I mean, Liz,” sniffled Seth. He shivered in this chilly afternoon air due to him only wearing a short sleeved shirt.

Liz gazed upon him sympathetically and took off her own jacket to wrap him up. “There you go, Seth. You’ll be all warm and toasty in no time at all.”

“Thanks, Liz, but don’t you need a jacket too? You’ll freeze out here,” stammered Seth.

“I’m not going to need a jacket for where I’m going,” said Liz while gesturing towards the edge of the bridge with a nudge of her head.

“No! No, you can’t do that!” argued Seth as he wrapped his bloodied arms around Liz. “I’m not letting you jump! I don’t care if I have to hold onto you for the rest of my life!” Even more hot tears drained the homeless teenager’s eyeballs to the point of redness. “You were my favorite teacher before they fired you! You taught me about being creative and making the most of life! And now you’re just going to jump off the bridge over some naked pictures online?!”

Liz wrapped her arms around Seth and said solemnly, “There’s more to it than that, Seth. It’s not just the naked pictures that became my scandalous secret. It’s about my career. It’s about my social and family lives. I made a bad decision when I let my bastard of a boyfriend take those pictures of me. I’ve lost everything and I can’t get it back. Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever. All I have left are the clothes on my body and a beating heart. I don’t want the latter of those two things if it just keeps hurting like this.”

Seth gave Liz his best puppy dog expression when he sobbed, “But I can help you get those things back! It’s not over until I say it’s over! You’re going to be okay again! I promise you!”

“Seth, that is so sweet,” sniffed Liz. “But you’re in the same boat as I am. We’re both alone out here with nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. What can we do for each other now? Where do we go from here?”

“There’s always another way, Liz,” said Seth. “We have each other. We can be a team and take on the streets together. Just you and me! No jack-off bullies, no bastard boyfriends, no judgment at all. You taught me all about this, Liz! You taught me how important it is to care about each other and be there when we’re down. If you jump off that bridge, you’re going to be nothing more than a hypocrite! Maybe I’ll join you afterwards, who knows!”

Liz shoved Seth away from the embrace and transformed back into rage mode. “Oh yeah?! A hypocrite?! And what do you suppose I do about this?! I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve got frostbite on my fucking fingers! Nobody wants to give me the time of day let alone give me my life back, all because of some stupid fucking naked pictures! What am I supposed to do, just pick up a beer bottle off the ground and pretend there’s actually liquor in it?! Tell me how you’d solve my problems if suicide doesn’t fix everything, asshole! What would the great and wonderful Seth Luke do if he was half the master of his destiny that I’m supposed to be?!”

While giving his former teacher the gorgon death stare, Seth pulled a wallet out of his pocket with his school’s logo on it. It looked stuffed with dollar bills. “You see this? I plucked it out of one of the bullies’ pockets while those three bastards were beating on me! I was going to eat at McDonald’s or Denny’s with this kind of money! I was going to take you out for something to eat! But I guess you’d prefer suicide over a good meal! See you around, toots! Thanks for the life lessons! I really appreciate them!”

Seth turned heel and began stomping away. Watching him leave twisted a knot in Liz’s stomach. No matter how much she tried to deny it, Seth was right all along. Dying would solve nothing. Liz had just unloaded on the one person in this world who still cared about her. He probably didn’t even have an internet connection to see those pictures. He took to her lessons of not judging each other like a bee to honey. Liz’s heart shattered into a million pieces after realizing what she had done.

“Seth, wait!” said Liz as she ran after him. He turned to face her with his arms folded and an angry stare formed on his bloody visage. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. Look at you. You’re in the same boat as me and you’d never consider suicide. You’re an A+ student in the truest sense. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Let’s take on the world together. I’d love to eat a decent meal with you. How about a hug?”

Liz and Seth bawled some more while coming in for a tight embrace. Two of the loneliest people in the world versus an uncaring, inherently evil society. The odds were stacked against them, but they liked those odds anyways. Death was not the answer. Fighting like a passionate warrior was closer to being the topic of an A+ paper, written by A+ students and teachers alike.

Article

(Sarcastic parody of pop science.)

VERSE 1

Ninety percent of drinks are made with Xantham Gum

I don’t even know where that terminology comes from

All I know is that it could lead to the biggest stroke

Even though this article was probably written as a joke

CHORUS

I read an article on the internet X4

VERSE 2

Eighty percent of fat people are going to die

The rest of us are immortal; why would the article lie?

People who eat kale are going to live forever

The rest of the population will always say never

The sample size is only about thirty-five people

Yet we assume all humans are created equal

The results have been skewed in our own favor

Because avocado butter is the new life saver

CHORUS

I read an article on the internet X4

VERSE 3

The internet sheeple hang on every word we say

Because they don’t get their news any other way

Seventy percent of assholes in laboratory coats

Are trustworthy enough to dispel any single hoax

A hundred percent of people who blindly follow

Have toothpick spines and skulls that are hollow

Science is a business, everything we say is true

Farting cures cancer and even the moody blues

EXTENDED CHORUS

I read an article on the internet

I read with undivided interest

I believed it like I was in a cult

I bought everything they sold

I read an article on a website

I eat seaweed every damn night

I drink smoothies made of fish cum

At least it doesn’t have Xantham Gum

The Aeromancer

The eighty mile per hour winds blew through Dread City like an apocalyptic breeze, leaving trees knocked over, garbage cans flying through the air, and electricity short-circuited. Even Officer Ryan Elkins’s radio was silent after navigating his patrol car through the city. Driving around was hard enough with trees, mail boxes, and garbage cans blocking the streets. Several times his tires skidded across the rough pavement with an annoying squeal. He breathed a sigh and shook his head no, realizing how dangerous crime rates could be in the middle of a windstorm.

As he turned down Tenth Street and narrowly avoided a knocked over recycling bin, Ryan’s patrol car took him over the sidewalk and toward a scene he had a hard time believing. “What the hell?” he said to himself as he watched a beautiful woman with long black hair while wearing a ragged gray dress dancing ballet-style across the windy roads. “This fucking woman’s out of her mind,” said Ryan to himself. He shook his head and got out of the car to confront this “crazy lady”.

The officer pulled out his heavy flashlight and shined it in the woman’s eyes. She covered her face wit her sharp red nails sticking out and hissed at Ryan like a monstrous cat. The brown uniform-donning policeman cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am. You do know that you’re in the middle of a windstorm and it’s imperative that you stay indoors, right? Do you need to go to a shelter tonight?”

The woman smiled wickedly at Ryan Elkins and said, “I don’t need a shelter, Officer. I’m at home right here in these streets. These high winds make me feel quite happy at this moment.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to…” Ryan put a stop to his sentence when he saw a garbage can flying through the air about to nail the woman in the face. He dashed toward her in an attempt to tackle her to safety, but once the woman held out her hand, the garbage can blew right back to where it was supposed to be. Officer Elkins’ eyes were wide with horror. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I told you I was happy out here with the winds. They bring me the kind of joy that no youngster’s technology can. But with the power out, I don’t have to worry about such things. I can just dance up a storm,” said the witch, who was now floating comfortably in the air while lying on her back and sticking her bare feet up.

Ryan let out a flat tire noise and said, “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Some crazy bitch is the cause of all this bad weather. Well, I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this one to the guys at the precinct. Place your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers. You’re under arrest for destruction of property.”

The aeromancer gently floated to her feet and did as she was told, but not without conjuring up a stream of wind that knocked Ryan off of his feet and rolled him like a bowling ball into a pile of pungent trash bags. The cop spit out pieces of rotten lasagna and stale spinach before rubbing his tongue vigorously with his fingertips.

“Alright, you crazy bitch, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no other choice,” said Ryan as he pulled out his pistol. He squeezed off a shot, but only after his arms were blown upward by the wind magic. His bullet blasted a power line loose and rained sparks down upon Ryan, who danced around yelling “Ouch!” as each volt of electricity pierced his skin.

By the time his electric shower was over, Ryan hugged himself in pain and jiggled down to his knees, shivering hard as a cool breeze blew past him. The mysterious woman smiled as she approached the pain wracked officer. Placing a hand on his sensitive shoulder, she said, “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. My winds can carry you to the hospital if you’d like. I’m sure they have a generator of some kind.”

“Get your hands off me!” shouted Ryan as he stumbled onto his back, shaking both in pain and coldness. He smiled insanely and said, “I don’t believe this shit. I’m getting my ass handed to me by a fucking witch! This is some fucked up fairytale shit right here!”

“I assure you, Officer, this is not a fairytale. Everything you see before you is real,” said the aeromancer when she leaned down beside Ryan and stroked his crispy hair. As the cop winced and gritted his teeth at each stroke, the woman continued her oratory with, “Surely you must have some kind of family to go home to. Maybe someone will come and visit you in the hospital. I don’t know who it is, but someone will. There’s always someone out there for everybody. And now that the electricity and internet signals are nearly gone, those folks will be closer than they’ve ever been. No looking down to text on their so called smart phones. No staring at their TVs and computers like zombies in the night. You can thank my aeromancy for that.”

Ryan brushed the witch’s hand away and looked at her with confusion. “So let me see if I have this straight: you knocked out the power in Dread City because you’re an ageist technophobe who has no life of her own? Okay, fine, lots of people feel that way. But do you know what else electricity is good for? Lights! Refrigeration! Cooking! Keeping time!” Ryan let out another flat tire noise and said, “Wow, you really didn’t think this through, did you, lady? We’re going to have a bunch of spoiled food and stubbed toes because of you and your so called aeromancy. Holy Christ, man!”

The witch stood up and stared blankly into the horizon like she’d just seen a ghost. Officer Elkins had been laughing at her this whole time and aggravating the sores on his body from the spark shower. The witch’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed and she raised her hands in the air, using her wind magic to elevate Ryan high into the night sky.

“What the?! Help! Get me down from here, you crazy woman!” shouted Ryan as his arms and legs flailed about in the air.

“First of all, you disgusting, laughing pig, my name is not crazy woman! By the time this is all over, you will know me as the aeromancer who set you straight! This isn’t some voodoo bitch magic! This is a message from Mother Nature herself! One day she will take everything back and none of your internet technology can save you! Until then…remember the name of Elizabeth Wilson, The Aeromancer!”

“No, no, no!” shouted Ryan when Elizabeth dropped her hands and sent the staunch cop plummeting toward the ground. During the rapid descent, Ryan’s life flashed before his eyes. He had only made it to forty years old and his life was going to end with the crunching of his bones and the splattering of his body. As death was ready to claim his very soul, Officer Elkins emptied his bowels and passed out into darkness before his body ever hit the ground.

It seemed like an entire century had passed since Ryan entered the darkness. No pearly gates of heaven, no fiery pits of hell, just darkness for the one who scoffed at the powers of aeromancy. His eyes felt like bank vault doors as he struggled to open them. All he could muster was a small glimpse into the white ceiling of a dimly lit hospital. Nothing new or exciting, it was just a stupid splash of white.

He could barely make out the feminine voice calling his name. Was it the crazy witch Elizabeth Wilson? Did she come to finish the job? No. The frightened face of Marilyn Elkins had come into view, messy brown hair, tearstained eyes, and all. “Oh, baby!” she said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!”

Ryan’s breathing was becoming heavier and his vision and hearing were both getting clearer. When he tried to sit up, his ribs sent a volcanic burst of pain through his system. “Damn, honey, I can’t even remember what the hell happened to me. I mean…I kind of remember this crazy woman and then…I don’t know. This is all bullshit to me.”

A vibrating noise buzzed in Ryan’s ears as Marilyn took out her cell phone to answer a text message. She didn’t look at it for two seconds before tossing it on a nearby table and staring deep into her husband’s eyes with the most loving expression imaginable. “Once you get out of this hospital,” she said, “We’re taking a trip to the mountains. No cell phones, no computers, it’ll be just you, me, and silence.”

Ryan managed a weak smile before he said, “Yeah, that’ll be lots of fun.” He tried to smile wider, but then winced in pain as he aggravated his injuries again. “Christ, what the hell happened to me out there?”

“Yeah, I’m wondering that myself,” said Marilyn. “What the hell is aeromancy, anyways? And who the hell is Elizabeth Wilson?”

“Good question, Marilyn. I’m trying to figure that one out myself. Wait a minute, what?!”

Exposed

In Juliet Farrell’s fourteen-year-old mind, whoever invented math should be strapped to a chair and beaten with hammers. Trying to wrap her head around complicated algebra caused her to rip up her homework assignments and stab her textbook with a sharpened pencil. If not for the after school tutoring of her teacher Trent O’Neil, her head would have exploded like a suicide vest. Every day for thirty minutes, she would sit in his empty classroom and work frantically on homework assignments. Meanwhile, Mr. O’Neil would stand over her with a shit-eating grin on his face and promises of his undying support.

“Don’t forget what FOIL stands for: First, Outside, Inside, Last. You have to remember that when multiplying two polynomials together,” said Mr. O’Neil in his best jovial voice. Juliet had a smile on her face as well when her teacher’s advice was actually working. “Excellent work, Juliet! You’ve come a long way in such a short period of time. I like that! If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the men’s room. I’ll be right back to grade your assignment.”

It had been only a few short minutes since Mr. O’Neil left the room and Juliet was already confident enough to finish her assignment in record time. Another smile formed across her dimpled cheeks and she gave a silent, “Yes!” She hugged the piece of paper to her chest like it was a child’s baby doll. She then danced happily over to her teacher’s desk to lay down the assignment.

It was here that the brunette haired teen took a closer look at Trent’s desk and noticed something unusual. His drawers were usually locked, but one of them was slightly ajar. With furrowed brows of confusion, she opened one of the drawers just out of random curiosity. She had seen him confiscate contraband from other students before and lock them up in these drawers. Maybe there was a CD player in there. Maybe there was chewing gum. Or pot. Or a knife.

After shuffling around inside the drawer, Juliet’s eyes widened in horror and her cheeks were quivering. As she flipped through naked photos of herself one by one, her blood had chilled and cold sweat poured off of her face in streams. She even held her hand to her mouth and cried silently at the perverted nature of these nude photos of her. Obviously they were Photoshopped, but the sexual acts she was performing in these photos…they brought up bile in the back of her throat.

“What are you doing with those?” asked a falsely apologetic Trent O’Neil, who was standing in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.

“What am I doing with these?” sobbed Juliet. She repeated that sentence in a scream this time followed by, “You have naked pictures of me in your drawer! What is wrong with you! Is that the only reason why you wanted to tutor me?! Oh my god, I feel sick!” The traumatized teen dropped to her knees and dry heaved on the floor. Her face had turned bright red and mucous was forming around her nostrils as she sobbed some more.

“Juliet…you need to listen to me. I can explain why those photos are there. They’re not mine, I swear,” said Trent with his arms held out in a mediocre attempt to calm his student down.

“Bullshit!” shouted Juliet while rising to her feet. “That is such bullshit! You’re a pedophile! You’re a goddamn pedophile!” Her sentences were punctuated by shoving Trent backwards repeatedly. The teacher had successfully deceived the entire school into thinking he was a decent person. But with one slap across Juliet’s face, his true colors showed and they were blood red.

Trent continued his assault by grabbing Juliet’s brown hair and hauling her to her feet. “Who in the hell do you think you are, little girl?!” he said in an emotionless whisper. “Who are you to destroy my career?! I spent years teaching the next generation how to excel at math and become productive citizens. If you think you’re going to fuck it all up for me, you’re dead wrong!”

Juliet stomped on Trent’s feet repeatedly, causing him to do a painful dance, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grasp on his student’s hair. In fact, he had enough strength to shove her to the ground and lay on top of her. His powerful arms pinned her skinny wrists to the ground while the teen screamed and pleaded to be released. “Let me go! Please let me go!”

“You want to be released?! Huh?! You want to be released?! Oh trust me, little girl, I’ll give you the best release you’ve ever had in your entire life!” Trent’s breathing was heavy and labored, but also creepy to listen to. “Don’t believe everything your sex ed teacher tells you. You’re not going to have green splooge afterwards. But here’s the kicker, my darling: if you tell anybody about this, those nude photos go online! One way or another, you’re going to be known as a fourteen-year-old whore! Whether it’s mine or the internet’s is up to you, little girl! What do you say?!”

Juliet sobbed the entire time Mr. O’Neil was yelling at her. No matter the outcome of this confrontation, she was doomed forever. She thought of all the people who would either know about her rape or see her Photoshopped pictures online. All the name calling. All the physicality. All the isolation. The thoughts numbed out her mind like a shot of Novocain to the brain. Then again, as long as her life was going to be ruined…

“Eat shit and die, you pervert!” screamed Juliet Farrell before she leaned her head over and bit down hard on Trent’s wrist, drawing so much blood that it probably curdled while the teacher was screaming in mind-blowing pain. He rolled off of her and allowed the blubbering student to get up and run toward the desk where the stack of photos was being kept.

Juliet looked through those photos again with downward eyebrows and clinched teeth before looking back at Trent O’Neil, who was sitting on his ass screaming in agony and wrapping his orange tie around his wrist wound. Juliet then picked up a stapler along with the photos and marched over to her injured teacher with sick intentions on her mind.

“You want people to see me naked? Fine by me. But it’ll be on my terms. And the blood will be on your hands!” threatened Juliet. One by one, she stapled the naked pictures to Trent’s exposed skin and caused bigger gushers than the one on his wrist. The teacher screamed and pleaded, but instead got more pictures stapled to his arms, legs, chest, forehead, and lastly, his crotch.

Trent shot up off the ground and danced in pain while bleeding all over the desks and carpet. Juliet watched him twirl around with folded arms and a gorgon death stare as she followed him out into the hallway where the football team was just getting out of practice at the next door gym.

The football players’ eyes widened in horror at the sight of a bloodied pedophile with pictures of a naked teenager stapled to his body. Trent O’Neil had become a human collage of disgust, disdain, and violence and all he could do about it was crawl on his hands and knees with the football team’s hearts skipping a few beats.

“Go ahead. Soak it all in,” said Juliet, who was standing in a puddle of her math teacher’s blood. “Add those pictures to your personal spank bank. Jack off to them as much as you want. But if you’re thinking of keeping me like one of your slutty cheerleaders, just remember that you too could be just as bloody and bruised as the man who did this to me. So…how about it, boys? Do you have something you want to say to me? You want to whistle at me? You want to blow me a kiss? You want to ask me to the homecoming dance? If you’ve got something to say, say it to my motherfucking face!”

For extra emphasis on how brutal she can be when she’s crossed, Juliet held up the bloodstained stapler she used to make artwork out of her teacher. “You’re crazy! You’re fucking crazy!” yelled one of the football players as all of them started to back away slowly in trembling fear.

“You’re right. I am crazy. Crazy like a fox,” said Juliet with a sadistic smile on her face. She even licked the blood off of the stapler to make the football team backpedal just a little bit faster (they were moving too slowly for her tastes).

Congratulations, Piper!

***CONGRATULATIONS, PIPER!***

Early this morning, my cute little squeaker kitty Piper was named Cat of the Day. Sitka came before her in 2014 and the tradition continues in 2016 with Piper-Diaper. So congratulations, little Squeak, for capturing the hearts of the internet with your diva charm! You’re getting extra petting tonight! The link to Piper’s Cat of the Day nomination can both be found in my Deviant Art ID widget and in this blog entry. Go ahead: soak it all in! ^_^

http://catoftheday.com/archive/2016/March/14.html

It’s also worth a few seconds of your time to read the sweet comments from the Cat of the Day community. Everybody loves Piper-Diaper! If it seems like I’m living vicariously through the fame of my cat, it’s because I am. Then again, giving an animal a good home and a happy life is an important thing for all pet owners to do. You may have a nice, friendly Piper in your home as well who depends on you for love and petting. ^_^

***COMPUTER SITUATION UPDATE***

The new computer works great and it’s all thanks to my awesome brother James for helping me set it up and not allowing me to make the same downloading mistakes I made with the first one. There’s going to be a lot more animal pictures, dark fantasy warrior drawings, and most importantly, literature. Lots and lots of literature. I didn’t leave the internet: I took a three day vacation. Now, let’s get some work done!

***ANIMAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Squeak!”

-Piper, March 14^th, 2016 Cat of the Day-

Dark Prophecy

“You wanted to see me?” said Charlie Marks, a leather jacket and jeans wearing high schooler who was too cool for school. Judging from his lackadaisical posture and bored facial expression, he felt he was too cool to be in the same office as his art teacher.

“Yes, Charlie, I did want to see you. Have a seat. Don’t get too comfortable, because this has suspension written all over it,” said Rebecca Waters, a brown dress wearing blonde who sat cross-legged in her office’s computer chair with the posture of a judge presiding over a criminal court case.

When Charlie took a seat on the wooden stool and twiddled his thumbs nonchalantly, Rebecca pored through her file folder until she found the piece of “art” that brought the two of them together that day. It was a cartoon of a distorted faced Special Olympian dressed in a bicycle helmet and a dirty diaper. If that wasn’t offensive enough, the caption of the drawing said, “The Prophet Muhammad” in big bold letters.

Charlie took the drawing from Rebecca’s hands and stared at it uncaringly. “Yeah, so?”

“What do you mean, yeah, so? You know full well why that’s unacceptable. Not only is it disparaging to the mentally disabled, but it’s extremely disparaging to the Muslim community. There are over five hundred Muslim students who attend this high school. What do you think they’re going to do if they see this drawing?” said Rebecca in an authoritative voice.

The “artist” pretended to look at his drawing from multiple angles, but he was really just turning his paper upside down and sideways to stall for time. When Rebecca asked an impatient, “Well?”, Charlie responded with, “They’re probably going to strap bombs to their bodies and blow me into pieces. Is that the answer you were looking for? Are you actually worried about this kind of crap going on? You say there’s five hundred Muslims going to school here? I bet not one of them has the balls to take me on over a stupid drawing. Ever heard of Freedom of Speech, Miss Waters?”

Rebecca shook her head no, cleared her throat, and said, “Listen, Charlie. There’ve been plenty of awful things going on in the news lately with terrorism and general ignorance toward certain people. Remember hearing about the ISIS attacks in Paris a few weeks ago? Of course you don’t, because you’re not smart enough to pay attention to world politics. If you were, you would know that this ‘funny’ cartoon is the highest form of prejudice toward the Muslim community. I’m not worried about what the students will do to you. Because let’s face it, none of our students act anywhere near as badly as the ISIS terrorists who committed that awful attack in Paris.”

“Well then, what are you worried about, Miss Waters? What, is ISIS going to raid our stupid little school and start shooting everyone in sight because I drew a cartoon? Don’t they have better things to do with their lives? Newsflash: those crazies halfway around the world don’t give a shit about Paulson City kids like me!” said Charlie Marks in a more animated voice complete with frantic hand gestures.

Rebecca hunched forward as if she was in a secretive conversation with her student and asked, “You didn’t post this drawing to your social media accounts, did you?” No answer, just a stupefied look on Charlie’s face. “Well, did you?!” The student gave a cheeky half smile and it was obvious at that point what his answer was.

“You idiot!” screamed Rebecca Waters. She stood over Charlie like a giant ready to breathe fire on some helpless villagers. “Do you realize what the hell you’ve done?! Are you so thickheaded that you don’t realize the gravity of what’s going on here?! Yeah, it may be a stupid cartoon to you, but it’s much more to the people online and around the world! It’d be the same thing if you posted a drawing of a black guy eating watermelon or a gay guy in tight-fitting bicycle shorts! You don’t do that! There are certain lines you just don’t fucking cross!”

Charlie looked into his teacher’s furious eyes with five second fear and then smiled his idiotic smile again when he said, “You swore, Miss Waters! Naughty, naughty!”

The art teacher fluffed her hair in frustration, let out a pissed off grunt, and plopped back down into her computer chair. She sat there for a minute taking deep breaths to calm herself down while Charlie was smiling and chuckling at her.

“What are you laughing at, you moron?” asked Rebecca. “You think bigotry is funny? Well, I don’t. This school doesn’t. The whole point of school is to teach you the ways of the world and how to coexist with the people you share that world with.” She snatched the picture from Charlie’s hand and presented it with disdain. “I’m not letting you get away with this. This kind of sick, demented garbage is punishable by suspension, maybe even expulsion if we feel you’re not learning anything from this.”

The smile slowly disappeared from Charlie’s face. “You can’t do that,” he said in a defeated tone.

“Oh, but we can. And we will! But you know what, Charlie? I don’t want you to be expelled from here. I want you to be punished, but not in that way. Maybe a cartoon doesn’t warrant that kind of extreme punishment. But you’re saying depicting the Prophet Muhammad in that way doesn’t mean anything. I’m saying it does and many will agree with me, including the Principal.”

Charlie’s eyes darted from side to side before he asked, “So…what do you want me to do? I mean…there is a catch to me not being expelled, right?”

“For starters, I want you to log onto my computer, go to your social media accounts, and take down the picture before anybody sees it. Ah, who am I kidding? It’s probably spreading across the internet right now. But I’d still appreciate it if you’d take it down before anybody gets hurt.”

Mr. Marks stared at his teacher like what she was asking him was too much to handle. After a while of stalling, Rebecca sighed and said, “Listen. I told you I didn’t want to expel you from here. You know why? Because up until this point, you’ve been doing A and B-worthy work in my classroom. You are a talented artist in many ways. But this drawing crosses so many lines on so many levels. So instead of putting you on the chopping block, I’d like you to meet somebody.”

Using her smart phone, Rebecca signaled her special guest to enter the office. He was a giant of a man with dark skin, a bald head, and a scraggly beard. He stood over Charlie Marks like the offensive artist was merely a worm on the sidewalk ready to be stepped on. He was introduced by Rebecca as Kamal Sadollah, one of the five hundred Muslim students she referenced earlier in the conversation.

“Relax, Charlie. I’m not here to hurt you. Allah wouldn’t forgive me if I did such a thing to you. But I have seen your drawing on Face Book and Twitter. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He placed his thick palm on Charlie’s quivering shoulder and said, “I know my religion and my culture doesn’t mean much to you. But it means something to me. I turned to Islam because I needed direction in my life. And guess what? I haven’t gotten in one fight since. I am a member of the high school wrestling team and any battle I have will be on the mat and nowhere else.”

“Okay, I get it,” said Charlie in a nervous tone. “You’re pissed off about my drawing. But you have to understand something. I didn’t do it because I wanted to piss you off personally. I did it as a joke. I thought it would be hilarious and I still think it is. Am I right?” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. Neither Rebecca nor Kamal was laughing. They were staring holes through him with their sniper scope vision.

“Here’s the deal,” said Kamal as he put his face closer to Charlie’s. “Either you take down that picture from Face Book and Twitter and anywhere else you have it posted, or I’m going to do something you’ve always wanted to do with your narcissistic pictures. I’m going to share that drawing. I’m going to share it with every Muslim friend and family member I know. And then I’ll share it with atheists, Christians, Jews, and anyone else who will listen. By the time I’m done distributing it, the entire world will know how much of an asshole Charlie Marks is. I won’t hurt you. I never will. But I can’t say the same for anyone else who sees that picture.”

“Charlie…listen to me,” said Rebecca. “You’re too young in your life to play the role of a villain. If that many people know about what you’ve done today, then your life will be ruined. I don’t want to see you end up that way. So please…do the right thing. Take down the picture.”

Kamal handed Charlie his smart phone and said, “Here, you can use this if you want. Don’t worry, it’s not hardwired to an IED. We’re not all stereotypes here, Charlie. We’re real people with real desires and real dreams. Do you have desires of your own that you want to see through? Then keep the world from seeing your worst side.”

Charlie Marks had tears in his eyes after being dressed down by Kamal Sadollah and Rebecca Waters. They broke him without ever once laying a finger on him. All they had to do was something every religion preached: talk to their enemy. After wiping his tears with his jacket sleeve, Charlie put Kamal’s smart phone to use and began the process of taking the offensive drawing down from the internet. It would be a huge weight off of his shoulders afterwards and that felt good.

Where's Susie?

CHORUS 1
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a hundred million bucks
If I don’t get it, I’ll scream like fuck
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 1
Let’s make one thing perfectly clear
You won’t find Susie around here
I know you hold her dear and near
I know you have your greatest fears
But I’ve never been mister four-one-one
I’m not the man who will get this done
Ask me one more time and I’ll explode
Look elsewhere for your final hope


CHORUS 2
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a place to put my penis
We’ll do it where no one will see us
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 2
The smartest of smart phones continues to ring
Yet I don’t know a single goddamn thing
You can ask your questions under a heated light
You’ll still get nothing on this cold autumn night
Way to go, Dick Tracy, or should I say Vic Mackey?
Probably the latter with the way you still ask me
You haunt the internet with a schizophrenic passion
Isn’t this the time to be responsible for your actions?


CHORUS 3
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a ride to planet Mars
Let’s take a trip in your rocket car
We can lose ourselves to foo-foo music
When it comes to gas, we can always abuse it


VERSE 3
Looking for Susie is like asking, “Where’s Waldo?”
You’re acting like it’s an answer we all know
If you’re so fucking scared about your little friend
Type up an Amber Alert and hit the link to send
Sherlock Holmes should be your new nickname
Yet all of your questions still remain the same
“Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie?”
Somewhere in the babble, you started to lose me


CHORUS 4
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Relatable Characters

I was surfing DeviantART’s daily deviation section one day and I found a gem in the form of a critique of typical internet stories. The premise was that every story he came across on the internet had the same basic plotline: the main character was a victim and every bad thing imaginable was happening to him or her. He went on to say that bad happenings were not enough to get the reader to give a damn about the main character. Harsh tone aside, the guy who wrote this editorial actually made a good point there. The question now is, how does an author make likable characters? To my understanding, a main character, no matter what the alignment, should NOT be perfect in every way and should have qualities that the reader would find interesting such as witty dialogue, an indomitable will, or even a sweet disposition. Suppose you had a big beefy barbarian who had a special place in his heart for puppies. That would make him more interesting. What if you had a super villain who made dark jokes that actually tickled funny bones more often than offended people. That might also be a reason to care. But in order to have these things in a main character, there has to be enough narration in the prose to develop him beyond the guy who has a lot of bad shit happen to him. Short stories, particularly in the flash fiction genre, don’t always allow the space for such development. So then what, Mr. Snappy Pants? Do short story authors just fuck off from the face of the internet? Bzzt! Wrong! They do what UFC commentator Joe Rogan likes to call “fighting in a phone booth”, which means make the most of the space you’re granted. Perhaps that would mean expanding a short story beyond the 2000 or 5000 word limit. But you could get the job done. Your sanity depends on it. Judging from the aggression in the daily deviation author’s voice, you can’t afford to make huge mistakes. In that case, do as much horrible shit to your main character as possible. It may be your only chance despite going against Mr. Drill Instructor’s advice. If you need help editing your story afterwards, seek the council of someone with the disposition of a baby bunny. I’ll bet you anything that the editor you seek out will give you a set of questions to answer within the space of your prose and once you have those questions emphatically answered, everything will work out right and you may get published. While this may not have been the most entertaining blog post I’ve done, I hope it was one of the more helpful ones. In the end, that’s pretty much all that counts.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral home for violating a corpse, and to top it all off, you ruin my relationship! What is your encore?! Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?!”

-Dante Hicks from “Clerks”-

"For the Win" by Cory Doctorow

Get ready to activate your activism. Get ready to demand what’s rightfully yours. What do we want? Internet and workers’ rights! When do we want it? As soon as the police stop beating us up! Such is the world of “For the Win” by Cory Doctorow. Playing online videogames has become a fulltime job, but without the benefits and perks that come with being in a union. But in order to form a union, you have to recover from the head trauma you’ve endured from a policeman’s knight stick so that you can organize your thoughts clearly. Seeing as how a good portion of this story takes place in China, you can expect a little dictatorship to be peppered relentlessly throughout the story. Lots of beatings, lots of arrests, and not enough people to stand up to these oppressive governments. The further into the story you get, the more people there are that sign up for this form of political bravery. With the help of the internet, this army of working-class people comes closer and closer together, further emphasizing Cory Doctorow’s theme of people over profits. Case in point, having more people on your side to speak out against oppression is more effective than bombing the crap out of a government building or police station or even causing a head-splitting riot in the streets. Even though “For the Win” is a work of fiction and appeals more to Generation Y members because of the videogame aspect of the storyline, we see these themes of political oppression all throughout the world. Therefore, this book is relatable to everyone even if you don’t play videogames as religiously as these main characters. A prime example of these theories in action comes from right here in the good old US of A. The reason Barack Obama got as many votes as he did in the 2008 presidential election was in part because he used social media to appeal to the younger crowd. He never had to strike fear in the hearts of his own people or incite riots, which is more than anybody could say about the Tea Party candidates that came swarming into office in 2010. Hope has always been more appealing than fear. These “For the Win” characters cling onto hope every day of their lives regardless of how badly they’re beaten by the police. When you eventually make it to the final 400 to 500 pages of the book, you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how well people power, hope over fear, and internet access mesh together in order to create change in an otherwise dystopian society.

　

***LITERARY QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“It was as obvious as a boner at the chalkboard.”

-A line from “For the Win” by Cory Doctorow-