Denny Crane: Why Is It Called a Bar Association If You're Not Supposed to Be Drunk?

 

Is Barney Gumble from The Simpsons a member of the Illinois Bar?

Kamala Harris vs. Alex Jones: "Sleeping Your Way to the Top" Is Better Than Plummeting Hard to the Bottom

 

Mike Cernovich: Blackbelt in Keyboard Karate, Not Even a White Belt in Real Martial Arts

 

Bryan Danielson (AEW) vs. Nick Khan (President of WWE)

 

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

 

Rebecca Rogers vs. Her Ex-Husband Avery

 

Jenna Ellis

 

Secretary

MOVIE TITLE: Secretary

DIRECTOR: Steven Shainberg

YEAR: 2002

GENRE: Erotic Drama

RATING: R for language and sexual content

GRADE: Fail

When you notice that this movie is an erotic drama and you see that James Spader’s character’s last name is Grey, your mind probably jumps to a decade later and a certain novel from E.L. James that generated controversy. Maybe this movie was a prophecy of sorts. I don’t see why not. Spader’s character’s first name is Edward and yes, that name also sounds suspicious considering where E.L. James got her inspiration from. Edward Grey is a sharp-dressed attorney who hires secretaries for the sole purpose of inflicting BDSM punishments on them whenever they make even the smallest of mistakes. He’s a well-to-do employer who takes full advantage of the power he has over his employees. Sound familiar? Not exactly a healthy relationship that’s built to last.

The imbalanced power dynamic is most evident when Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character, Lee Holloway, becomes his latest charge. She starts the movie by exiting a mental hospital after struggling so long with self-harm. While the act of cutting and bandaging herself is a realistic behavior of someone with her mental illnesses, it plays a little too well into the BDSM relationship. Edward Grey spanks her repeatedly and she gets off on that. Let me repeat that back to you, not unlike a secretary typing a letter for a powerful attorney: a woman who finds psychological healing in harming herself finds sexual pleasure in being harmed, by someone with too much professional power, no less. I’ll let that sink in for a little while.

But perhaps I’m reading too much into this. After all, one of this movie’s thousands of subgenres is comedy. Comedy shouldn’t be taken too seriously, right? I’d agree with that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t laugh one single time throughout this movie. I could have watched an orphanage burn to the ground and it would have made me laugh harder than this movie. Was I supposed to be impressed by the over-the-top portrayal of BDSM culture? Was Lee Holloway’s awkwardness supposed to make me chuckle? Maybe it’s just dry humor and belly laughs weren’t necessarily required. Maybe I’m too dumb to get the punch line. Whatever the case may be, I think the word “comedy” can be removed from this movie’s list of subgenres and it wouldn’t suffer much.

Up until the ending, this movie had loads of potential. It could have been a dark story about the power imbalance between boss and subordinate. It could have been a struggle with mental illness. Edward Grey’s small moments of guilt could have encompassed the entire story and I would have been fine with that. While I won’t spoil the ending, I will give away the fact that as the movie draws closer to it, the overall tone becomes happy and romantic. That’s right. Taking advantage of a vulnerable, mentally ill woman is seen as a healthy relationship dynamic. Maybe this movie was a prophecy after all. Thanks, but no thanks. This movie gets a failing grade because it reminds me too much of Fifty Shades of Grey. And for the record, the sex scenes are just as vanilla.

"Souls of the Reaper" by Markie Madden

BOOK TITLE: Souls of the Reaper (Undead Unit 2)

AUTHOR: Markie Madden

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Paranormal Crime Drama

GRADE: Pass

I can say with utmost certainty that this novel is an improvement from the last. Sure, it still has its fair share of typos such as quotation marks that don’t end, but those are little things that can be easily fixed. Colton’s werewolf anger was perfectly justified this time around. His truck gets egged, his suspects are uncooperative, technology malfunctions from time to time, and doing paperwork is still a pain in the neck. As for the shifter newbie, Kazz, her passion for learning is evident as it should be for all rookies, especially those in law enforcement. Marcell comes off as a sweet and gentle soul as does Niall, which makes sense since they’re both in the business of healing people. Lacey Anderson is a believable main character in her own right. She’s tough on crime, sensitive to the victims of said crimes, and vulnerable during her moments of weakness. Being immortal creatures doesn’t make any of these protagonists Mary-Sues, because they still have to rely on police procedure and their own wits to get the job done. The overall team is effective in their duties and that’s something they had to earn throughout the Undead Unit series so far.

I only have two minor complaints when it comes to this book and this is just nitpicky stuff. I would have liked for Lacey’s adopted dog Morgan to get more page time, especially since it would’ve kept the fighting kennel raid scene from becoming a mere side story. Plus, I enjoy stories of former fighting animals finding love in their forever homes. It warms my heart. The other minor complaint I had was the way the final chapter (not the epilogue) concluded. The criminal reaper who’s been stealing souls to satisfy his lust for power, Su Xiong, was billed as this dangerous warrior who could snap at any minute. While I won’t give away what happens to him as this is a spoiler-free review, it was just a tad underwhelming for a guy who’s supposed to be as dangerous as he is. Granted, the path to this ending was by no means easy or pain-free, but the streak of agony should have continued into the final encounter. But again, these two complaints don’t ruin the entire story for me. I’ll always cherish Markie Madden’s way of bringing her worlds to life.

Think of your favorite TV crime show, whether it’s NCIS, CSI, Law & Order, or The Shield among others, and pair it with supernatural themes such as soul reaping, astral projection, and undead racism. That hodgepodge is what you can expect from Souls of the Reaper. It’s fun, clever, creative, and you’ll love it so much that you’ll want to see it on TNT or CBS one day as a full-time show. Even Syfy would love to get their hands on this story if it meant turning it into a well-crafted TV series. Four out of five stars will go to Markie Madden’s wonderful police procedural. I hope to one day finish the Undead Unit series!

RBG

MOVIE TITLE: RBG

DIRECTORS: Betsy West and Julie Cohen

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Documentary

RATING: PG for language and politics

GRADE: Extra Credit

RBG documents the multi-decade career of women’s rights lawyer and Supreme Court justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Growing up as a second class citizen by virtue of her gender, she knew right away what she wanted to fight for when she tried her cases. Her legacy laid the groundwork for equal pay, equal opportunities, and equal treatment between men and women. Though we still have a long way to go as a society in terms of how women are treated, Ruth Bader Ginsberg will always be seen as someone who got the ball rolling in the right direction. Even today in her old age, she remains a pop culture icon among liberals, women, and youngsters, even being jokingly called The Notorious RBG, a parody of hip-hop artist Notorious BIG.

Ruth’s quiet and introverted nature was a focal point throughout the movie and makes her come off as likable and trustworthy even among her political opponents. She doesn’t believe in raising her voice or being nasty when arguing a case. As a matter of fact, yelling at somebody to win an argument will always turn the other person off rather than bring them in. If you need further proof of Ruth’s diplomatic approach, she was close friends with Antonin Scalia, a Supreme Court justice and rightwing advocate. If those two clashing personalities can get along, imagine what other kinds of barriers can be broken among our people. Breaking down social barriers is important in Trump’s America due to how divided and venomous we as a society have become. Watching Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s peaceful interactions among her opponents is inspiring to watch and makes me believe in hope all over again.

As a matter of fact, any political documentary that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside will always earn an extra credit grade from me. That’s the kind of feeling we need in today’s world. It’s easy to feel angry and disenfranchised with everything going on and I’m not immune to any of that myself. Stripping you of your hope and your happiness is exactly what the extremists want. When you lose sight of what’s important in life, you become bitter. Bitter words will never bring us together no matter how loudly we yell. Even though I’m a proud liberal, I wouldn’t trade any of my conservative friends for the world. Some of them have been there for me during the darkest times of my life and that’s a debt I could never repay. Ruth Bader Ginsberg will never raise her voice, but she will fight for everything the world needs. That alone makes her a role model we can all be proud of. In fact, some her fans are so proud that they got T-shirts, coffee mugs, and even tattoos in dedication to her. Tattoos? Really?

Back in February of 2018, I saw a one-man show depicting the life and legacy of Thurgood Marshall, another Supreme Court justice who fought for equality, but among races. Ruth Bader Ginsberg showed the same heart and dedication when she built her legacy around gender equality. These two performances have a lot in common, particularly in the way they show how powerful a good debating strategy can be. In their cases, the lawyers were so influential that they became Supreme Court judges. It’s not a role to be taken lightly. It can be the difference between living in a civilized society and throwing everything back to the Dark Ages. Sometimes it feels like we’re living in the Dark Ages all over again, which is why it’s so important never to give up hope or give up the fight for the common good.

Watching this documentary will empower you to levels you’ve never imagined. It’s a wakeup call for everybody involved whether they want to be woken up or not. As I’ve stated earlier in this review, I’m giving the documentary an extra credit grade for being an empowering life lesson without preaching to the choir. It’s not just a pat-on-the-back for ninety minutes. It’s something we could all use at least once in our life.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 20

With the sun’s gentle rays caressing their skins and the ocean’s waves to lull them into comfort, Scott and Adrienne strolled along the beach together hand in hand without a care in the world. Scott’s tan cargo shorts clung to his hips like he actually had the body of an athlete. Adrienne’s purple bikini revealed her best physical features, though none could match the beauty of her smile as she pecked her boyfriend on the cheek.

Somewhere in one of the straw huts, a portable stereo played the underrated Sting classic “When We Dance”. And by god, the couple was going to do just that. Scott spun his girlfriend around and leaned her backwards while she lifted one of her gorgeous bare feet in the air. The two lovers shared another kiss together, this one much longer and more passionate than the first.

The two hugged each other and slow-danced to Sting’s lyrics. When Adrienne asked him why his face grew serious all of the sudden, Scott said, “Can we never leave this beach? Do we have to go back to Perkins City?”

“Trust me, babe, I’d love nothing more than to spend forever with you on this beach. We have everything we’ll ever need here: good food, gentle waves, and enough sunshine to keep us warm until the end of time,” said Adrienne in a seductive voice. Her face also grew serious when she finished her sentiment with, “Unfortunately, we have to go back soon. Vacations are only temporary as we both know from going to school all the time. It seems like time is just flying by and we can’t catch up with it.”

Scott embraced his girlfriend tightly and begged, “No, I’m not going back! Please don’t make me go back. I fucking hate that place. It’s like a reverse fucking Disneyland!”

Adrienne pushed him to a close distance and said, “I know, Scott. Trust me, I know. If I go back to Perkins City, my dad is just going to make my life a living hell, just like he did yours. Reality sucks, but that’s what life is.”

“I don’t want this life anymore,” confessed Scott. “I’ve waited all this time to be free and I’m not going to just have it snatched up from underneath me.”

“But then who’s going to pay the bills, honey? What will we do for money? This beach isn’t paying our rent. It’s just an escape from our responsibilities. Whether we like it or not, we’re part of a community.”

“No, don’t say that word! Don’t say the C-word!” snapped Scott as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Don’t say that fucking word! I hate that word! Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate that word!”

“Scott, please! You’re scaring me! I didn’t mean to trigger you!” said a frightened Adrienne as he gently rested her palm on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The minute Scott’s tears splashed on the soft sand, she hugged him around the head and comforted him with, “I’m sorry. I’ll never say that word again. We can stay here if you’d like. It’s not like this island is in short supply of jobs or anything like that.”

“Jobs?” wept Scott. “Who’s going to hire me? What boss in his right mind wants to hire a guy who falls to pieces after every little thing?”

Placing both hands on her boyfriend’s shoulders and giving him a stern look, Adrienne said, “You have to take responsibility to wake up from your nightmares. You can’t live this way forever, my dear. I can only do so much for you. Now it’s your turn to fight back against the world. You can’t let these people beat you so easily. Fight for me, Scott. Fight for us. Fight for our child!”

The two of them stood up slowly together and Scott’s watery eyes were now staring lovingly into his girlfriend’s sweet face. “You’re right, babe. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Can you do me one last favor before we leave here? Kiss me. Kiss me as hard as you can. If I’m going to fight for what’s right, then I’m going to need all the strength I can get.”

“Of course I’ll kiss you, silly. Come here.” Just as promised, the two of them locked lips and swirled their tongues in each other’s mouths. Adrienne’s lips became much more aggressive as Scott held her closer.

Scott closed his eyes and enjoyed the passionate kiss…until he felt some strange presences crawling around on his tongue. He forcefully pulled away and his eyes shot open in horror at the face he was now gazing into. The visage of Aloysius Striker sang her operatic “Good Morning” song while Scott desperately spit out worm after worm, maggot after maggot. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and barfed the last of the worms onto the sand below, turning his body nearly inside out from the deadly force.

“Good morning to you! Good morning to you! Good morning, dear Scotty! Good morning to you!” Mrs. Striker’s voice became progressively deeper and more demonic as she sang her whimsical tune. Her teeth looked more dangerous than those of a great white shark. Her evilly-slanted eyes glowed with orange neon. The worms in the back of her throat slithered down her jaw and all Scott could do about it was scream his head off.

“Order! Order in the courtroom!” commanded the judge as he smashed his gavel and awakened Scott from his nightmare. Drenched in sweat and still wearing his hospital scrubs, he found himself back in the defendant’s chair with his lawyer by his side. Scott’s breathing grew deeper and deeper while his lawyer tried to calm him down with shoulder pats.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the judge.

“We have, your honor,” said the lead juror. Scott’s hazy vision was now laser focused as his heart beat quickly and adrenaline flooded his nervous system. Even though his “vacation” with Adrienne was only temporary, he had to take that lesson to heart: fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s right. Never give up. This internal monologue steeled his raw nerves to where he could focus on the verdict. No matter what the jury decided, this fight wouldn’t be over by a long shot and Scott showed that with his eyebrows furrowed.

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, on one count statutory rape, we find the defendant Mr. Scott George…guilty as charged.”

“No!” cried Adrienne from a far corner of the courtroom while the judge’s gavel banging restored order to a chaotic situation. No amount of mallet whacking could drain the tears from Adrienne Simpson’s eyes as she hugged her mother tightly.

“Bail set at five thousand dollars. Thank you, members of the jury. Bailiff, please take the defendant away. I’ll hand down his sentence soon enough. Case dismissed,” said the judge before banging the gavel one last time.

The bailiff grabbed Scott’s arm and brought him to his feet before cuffing his hands behind his back and pulling him away. The defendant’s eyes watered as his lawyer mouthed the words, “I’m sorry for everything.” Scott nodded at him as he was being half-dragged down the aisle.

“Scott!” shouted Adrienne as she rushed to the center, stopping the bailiff and his charge in their tracks. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper-sobbed, “Promise me this isn’t over! Promise me you’ll fight through the pain!”

“I promise you, Adrienne. We will see each other again.” He tried to kiss her, but was immediately pulled away by the scruff of his neck. He never took his eyes off of his beautiful, yet sorrowful Adrienne Simpson, even when she turned away to hug her mother once more.

Before Scott could cross the threshold leading to the outside world, he distinctly heard his girlfriend shout, “I’m not a goddamn victim, you assholes!” The uncaring judge banged the gavel even louder in order to shut her up.

The one thing that raced through Scott’s mind as he was being hauled away into the police car was anxiety over whether or not he made a promise he couldn’t keep. Maybe the two of them would see each other again…in the next life. Maybe there could finally be justice in a political climate where there was none…in the next life. Maybe the world would finally pull its head out of its ass…in the next life.

Such a funny phrase for someone as atheistic as Scott George: the next life. He had only heard about its beauty through the Pop Evil song of the same name. Even without his trusty MP3 player, he could still hear Leigh Kakaty’s golden voice crooning that lovely rock tune to him. Scott was surprised that his mind was cooperative for a change instead of trying to force-feed him worms, or worse yet, the philosophy of a conformist community.

In many ways, the prison system was a “community” of its own. Everybody wore the same clothing. Everybody did the same activities. Ate the same disgusting food. Lived with the same disgusting people. Lived by the rules of the same disgusting prison guards. Lived under the thumb of a warden who could only be described as Aloysius Striker on steroids. And to think, that woman was actually a real person instead of a traumatic Floydian ghost.

That reminded Scott of something that brought out even more wormy feelings in his stomach: would he see Alan Young in prison too? What kind of person would he become after such a short time of captivity? Alan was already a nasty son of a bitch. What would he look like in an orange jumpsuit? Would he be covered in prison tattoos? Would he look twice as ugly as when he went in? Would he actually be good at fighting this time around? Scott somehow took solace in the idea that the other prisoners wouldn’t put up with his rotten attitude. But even that modicum of solace wasn’t enough to shut up the worms in Scott’s belly and brain. Where was a gavel when he needed one?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 18

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, how does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.

The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”

A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.

“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.

“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”

As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.

The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.

“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?

I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”

Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?

“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.

The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”

Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.

“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.

“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.

“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”

“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”

Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.

The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”

“Objection, your honor!”

The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.

And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.

If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.

He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?

Thurgood

PLAY TITLE: Thurgood

PLAYWRIGHT: George Stevens, Jr.

OPENING YEAR: 2006

GENRE: Historical One-Man Show

MATURE CONTENT: Racial Slurs

GRADE: Extra Credit

Thurgood Marshall reflects on his life from impoverished beginnings to becoming a well-known civil rights activist and Supreme Court justice. His budding wisdom was needed more than ever since he grew up during the Jim Crow era, when racism against black Americans came in the form of lynching, segregation, and an instilled feeling of inferiority. Through poignant debating skills, tireless research, and undying commitment to his cause, Thurgood Marshall paved the way for younger generations of black Americans by giving them a sense of pride and urgency. They need it now more than ever in the wake of Trump’s presidency, police brutality, and the rise of the alternative right.

I saw this play on February 25^th, 2018 and the actor who played Thurgood was spot-on in his performance that afternoon. He spoke with candid authority, undying passion, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. When he said that the law will be his only weapon, you believed him, not just because of beforehand research, but because it felt organic coming out of this actor’s mouth. There were a few times when he stumbled over his words, but he was able to pick himself back up and keep going with his oratory as if nothing slowed him down. Even if you had the attention span of a five year old, you’d still be laser focused on this one-man show.

The actor’s body language was every bit as poignant as his debating skills and speech patterns. He recalled one time when he worked as a waiter in a predominantly white café. The way he served his racist customer’s food and danced around all smiles was the perfect mask for hiding his anger on the inside. He knew being constantly called the N-word was wrong, but he put up with it because he was getting twenty dollar tips during a time when he was flat broke. It wasn’t until after being fired by his black boss that he realized there were more important things in this world than money. That’s a lesson we all need to learn if we’re to move forward. If you’re not paying attention to this lesson, you’re already waiting to be screwed.

But even the Murphy’s Law-style life story and emotional acting couldn’t prepare me for the doll comparison angle. When arguing against segregation, Thurgood had two dolls on the bench: a white doll and a black doll. He recalled research where he asked children questions like, “Which doll would you like to play with?”, “Which doll is better looking?” and “Which doll is evil?” The black children answered positively for the white doll and negatively for the black doll. That broke my goddamn heart. Taking self-esteem away from children no matter what color is disgusting as hell. But without this heart-wrenching scene, Thurgood wouldn’t have been able to make a strong case against Plessey vs. Ferguson. It hurts. It hurts badly. But it’s a truth that we all must be exposed to if we are to make progress. This part of the story was executed perfectly.

We need this kind of peak-performance acting in today’s far-right society. We need this kind of inspiration. We need this kind of message. I have no idea when this one-man play will be performed again, but if your city is hosting it, go see it without missing a beat. Even for those who are already on the correct side of history, your eyes will be opened much wider than before. Thurgood Marshall did a lot for this country, but we still have a long way to go until we reach perfect harmony. An extra credit grade will go to this excellently-acted show with an undeniable message.

I'm an American

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

VERSE 1

I don’t need the police to tell me how to eat

If it’s a candy bar or a mountain of meat

Chewing on the treat with my mouth wide open

You can do nothing about it, just remain stoic

Will you make an arrest for the way I eat?

Surrender my ass to the nearest precinct?

Good luck finding a jury who gives a shit

Good luck finding a judge who cares just a bit

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

VERSE 2

I don’t need the law to tell me how to dress

I have no responsibilities or people to impress

Sweatpants and Pink Floyd shirts are my style

Take selfies and post them online for a while

Will you put cuffs on me for the way I dress?

Did you actually pass the fucking bar test?

Good luck finding a jury who’ll find me guilty

Good luck finding a judge with a heart so chilly

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

BRIDGE

This is America, not North Korea

This is free speech, not verbal diarrhea

This is free expression, not acting like a clown

This is America, not Putin’s hometown

VERSE 3

I’m not a member of the Washington Bar

But I know your case won’t go very far

Nothing illegal about chewing like a beast

Nothing immoral about sweatpants in the least

The case is closed, just like your mind

A not guilty verdict is what the jury finds

You wasted the taxpayers’ time and money

In the land of opportunity, milk, and honey

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

El Divorcio

VERSE 1

Is this the life you really want?

Is it worth the price of the ring you bought?

Is it worth the senseless fights?

Do you have to do this every night?

Starting arguments for the hell of it

Your rage and tears are irrelevant

Does any part of you want to break up?

Is it time to dry your eyes and wake up?

CHORUS

El divorcio, el divorcio

It’s all over forever and now

El divorcio, el divorcio

There is nothing to smile about

No more holding hands in public

No more kisses that are sudden

No more passionate love making

When your heart is breaking

VERSE 2

Who was right or wrong all along?

Who’s to blame for this sorrowful song?

Lawyers and judges get to decide

Who gets the gold, who gets the hearse ride

The tiring war goes on for months

It soon turns into a bounty hunt

Is this the result you really need?

Surrendering to aggravated greed?

CHORUS

El divorcio, el divorcio

It’s all over forever and now

El divorcio, el divorcio

There is nothing to smile about

No more holding hands in public

No more kisses that are sudden

No more passionate love making

When your heart is breaking

VERSE 3

Is it too late to start over again?

A newfound lover or just a friend?

A shattered dream to mend with gold?

Another soft hand to gently hold?

Is it too late to turn back the clock?

Find a shoulder to cry on and be your rock?

Are you your own hero? Can you save the day?

Or will you forever push the masses away?

BRIDGE

It’s not over until you say it’s over

Don’t be afraid to pull her closer

Don’t be afraid to say you’re sorry

Let’s start again, my precious darling

A Million Dollars

(A parody of rich people who sue for ridiculous reasons.)

VERSE 1

To make money, you have to have money

I’m laughing to the bank, it’s so damn funny

I’ll take you to court for every fucking penny

Spend your money on hookers named Jenny

You don’t have much, but it’s mine anyways

It’s not my fault you work for minimal pay

The coffee you served me was too damn hot

Someone has to pay for my scarred up crotch

CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

VERSE 2

Telling lies about me, that’s called slander

Choke on your bullshit, choke on your candor

Spreading misinformation, that’s defamation

Kidding yourself with mental masturbation

The judge has no sympathy for liars and cheaters

Even if you’re nothing more than a bottom feeder

You have a welfare check? Try to make it stretch

In your financial future, I’ll throw a monkey wrench

CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

VERSE 3

It’s not your fault that the system is crazy

It’s all your fault that you’re too damn lazy

Keep manning the grill while I crack the whip

Keep fairytale lies from coming out of your lips

EXTENDED CHORUS

I am going to sue you!

I am going to screw you!

I’ll make you holler!

I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

I’ll show up to court in a suit and tie!

Watch as you curl up in a ball and die!

See you on the streets, your brand new home!

See me vacationing in the city of Rome!

Artistic Democracy

An artistic democrat is much different from a political democrat. An artistic democrat is someone who cares so much about what his audience thinks of his work that he’s willing to sacrifice his own personal tastes just to please them. In high school, I would commonly refer to such people as “conformist bastards”. While I do realize that the audience will determine an author’s success due to sales, they shouldn’t control him completely. People get into the artistic business for the same reasons as everyone else: to satisfy their own creative urges. I can’t speak for everybody, but I’m pretty sure that Bentley Little doesn’t write horror stories because his audience forms a line outside his door and begs him to do so. In order for that to work, you have to find Bentley Little (he’s a little bit difficult to locate these days, even with a GPS signal). The same could be said about WWE superstars. Sure, they love to say that they do it for the people in their cute little promos (because that’s what heroic characters do: they pander to the crowd), but come on. Really? You don’t get more of a rush out of flying against the ropes and winning championship after championship? Truth is, if the public decided your fate, you wouldn’t be a fucking artist of any kind. You’d most likely be a lawyer, an accountant, a doctor, a data clerk, or any other lame ass job that although drains you dry does satisfy society’s needs. The people who do this kind of work like to brag about “contributing to society” and I just say, “Fuuuuuuuuuck you!” Do you really want to give gifts to the people who don’t give a shit about you? I’m pretty sure that if you’re a police officer who gets injured in the line of duty, going on social security indefinitely is not what society likes. It may be what keeps you from starving everyday, but it’s not what they want. And now I’m going to incorporate my own creative life into this blog like I normally do. I’m happy to write entertaining books about bloody action sequences and raunchy sex for you. If you enjoy my stories, good for you. If not, then that’s okay too, because nobody’s putting a gun to your head and forcing you to be a member of my audience. Unless you’re an editor with a genuine interest in furthering my career, don’t expect me to change my style for you. Either you love me or you leave me. Unlike our current governmental system, my creative life is not a democracy. On the contrary, I’m an autocrat and I rule with an iron fist. It’s the same iron fist my characters use to punch each other’s lights out with. The only way this will ever be a G-rated affair is if I’m playing the guitar and I break a G string while fingering A minor.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Conservatives need to find a channel for their anger and that channel is not Fox News.”

-Bill Maher-

"Skin Tight" by Carl Hiaasen

To use a phrase that will eventually become commonplace on this blog, Carl Hiaasen has done it again. His dialogue is witty, his villains are giggly, and his pace is breakneck. What more could one ask for when reading an environmental thriller? In the case of “Skin Tight”, somebody wants Mick Stranahan, a former police officer, dead. After disposing of a hit man with a swordfish, he goes on an investigative journey to find out just who paid him off. Along the way, he meets a TV personality with more vanity than credibility, a seven-foot bouncer who looks like a giant Rice Krispies treat, and an ambulance-chasing lawyer with sleazy intentions. The biggest threat to his life is Dr. Rudy Graveline, an incompetent plastic surgeon who has been sued more times than he cares to remember. Mick knows something that Rudy wants him to keep quiet about, albeit within the comfort of a casket: a plastic surgery fuck-up that reeks of homicide, particularly as it relates to a nose job done on Victoria Barletta, a college coed. Putting all of these crazy characters in the same place at the same time can only mean one thing: chaos. Lots and lots of chaos. If you think being trapped in a prison cell with these people is bad enough, try the entire state of Florida. Murder and corruption are common themes within this story. So common that most of these assassination attempts are on Mick’s life. You talk about some fast-paced action? You’ve got it, buddy! Even when things are cooling off for just a little while, they quickly pick right back up where the high-octane action left off. The lengthy conversations alone are enough to keep the reader on the edge of his seat. This story along with Hiaasen’s other works should be the standard bearers of what good fiction is. If you think the only fun you could have while reading is being on Twitter or Face Book, pick up “Skin Tight” and you’ll be instantly converted. It’s because of the fast-paced action that I’ve decided to label Mr. Hiaasen as a profound influence on my own writing. There’s a reason he’s so prolific. For a 375-page reason, buy “Skin Tight” and read the damn thing. Enough said.

　

***TWEET OF THE DAY***

I don’t have bad taste in jokes. I just like jokes that are in bad taste.

-Me-